Allakha-Poof
by Lunaverserocks
Summary: I have my heart set on one character: Zhao. And I plan on doing something dastardly. Rated for future antics.
1. Mr Flannel-Hobo-Wizard

You know those moments when you catch yourself thinking about how life is unfair and cruel? Yeah, this is a story about a very long one of those moments. And unfortunately, I've come to a rather important conclusion: don't accept spells from hobo-type wizard dudes when you're waiting in line for a chimichanga.

Honestly. _Don't do it._

And if you ever _do_ find yourself waiting in line for a glorious chimi and a hobo wearing a mismatched set of blue flannel clothes—shirt and pants, mind you—approaches you, walk away. Get out of line and book it. Fast.

Let me explain my day so far…you know, just to give you a better example. Because I know you—you'd probably do the same thing that I did. _And that's no bueno._

Like I said, I was waiting outside of a popular chimichanga walk-up stand operated by a nice little dude named Pedro. Classic, I know; but it's the truth. You see, Pedro is a super nice guy. He's always flirting with his customers and providing an endless supply of English/Spanish banter. But let me tell you something: Pedro didn't have enough sense to _directly_ tell me _not_ to recite the damn spell Mr. Flannel-Hobo-Wizard gave me. No, he just told me to be careful. So don't let Pedro's wickedly awesome accent distract you from the lesson I'm gonna throw down.

When I walked up to the stand, there was a bit of a line. Like always. Damnit, other people knew that Pedro knew how to whip up some excellent Mexican cuisine.

So, while I was waiting, of course I was looking through the Fanfiction App on my super ancient iPhone 5S, scrolling through stories about my favorite character, a certain no-self-control Admiral named Zhao. And as I was perusing the newest additions, I just so happened to look up, catching the attention of the strange hobo-wizard that I mentioned earlier.

He was quick to scurry over to me and I ducked my head back down as quick as I could. Apparently, I wasn't fast enough and Mr. Flannel-Hobo-Wizard came _right on up_ to me, poking a greasy, Professor Snape-like nose in my general direction.

I'm not one to judge hobos, especially magical ones, but this dude radiated some mega mystical vibes. And I gotta admit, I was a little impressed—and it wasn't because of his unusual cheap-smelling frankincense and pine scent…which should have been my first dang clue to run away. I mean, what kind of hobo smells like a mixture of Jesus and forest? This one, apparently.

I feel like I'm giving you a lot of clues about this strange hobo and I have to say, if you do fall into this trap, I'm going to be very disappointed. Like… _extremely_ disappointed.

"I see you like Fanfiction," he pointedly said, waggling a finger in front of chimichanga-craving face.

"Uhh," I smartly replied, whipping my phone away from the strange dude. Because seriously…how many people come up to you and outright ogle your phone? It's not just a polite faux-pas, it's a no-no. "Yeah, sure," I said, sounding a little more polite…because damn you Mom, that's what you taught me to do.

"Oh! Well that's marvelous. Truly marvelous," he beamed, showering me with a smile that practically _glittered_. What a weirdo.

"Um, yeah?"

"Oh! Yeah!" He continued to look at me, a silence stretching between us that was too long to ignore.

I scooted a little further up the line. Thank God it was _moving_ and my chimi would soon be in my gurgling belly.

Meanwhile, Pedro was giving the dude a look and he was gripping his spatula a little tighter, obviously unnerved by the flannel-wearing hobo. I can't blame him for being a little hesitant and I honestly should have followed his example. But I didn't…because I'm an idiot.

"How would you like to go to—" he glanced at my phone again. Seriously, dude! Not cool. "—the Avatar world?"

I flat out laughed in his face. Screw being polite; if this strange man was gonna look at my phone and break a social norm, I wasn't going to be very courteous.

"Yeah, okay. That's not possible."

Mr. Flannel-Hobo-Wizard looked at me, his black eyes (yeah, I said _black_ ) flashing just a little too much to be natural. "How about this," he said, reaching for my left hand, the one that wasn't clutching onto my blue-covered cell phone. "I'll give you a spell. It'll send you there for a short amount of time…a few days, maybe a few weeks at best."

I chuckled again. "And what do you want in return? My first born?"

Another flashy-eyed, glittering smile. Creepy. "No, no. Nothing like that, miss. I would just be happy with the sending you there part. I'm in training, you know. And I'm afraid I'm behind on my teleportation spells. I need just a few more _successful_ ones in order to pass my class. But it would be ever-so-kind of you to help me out."

Well huh. You see, now that I look back on this whole situation, the whole "successful" part should have stuck out to me. But at the time, it definitely didn't. Instead, I thought, _well, that seems legit enough_. And I proceeded to open my big, fat mouth.

"Sure," I nodded, realistically hoping that my acceptance would make this guy leave me alone. Seriously, I only wanted a chimi.

"Allakha-poof," he mumbled, rubbing his hands together underneath his suddenly crazy-long flanneled sleeves.

He handed me a piece of paper, something no bigger than a business card. "Use this whenever you please. And when you're done in that world, please be sure to come back and sign my form that way I can get credit. Oh, and," he flashed me another toothy grin, "if you _really_ like your experience, could you write it down? I get extra credit if you _write_ about this. It's very important, you know."

"Ha-ha," I smiled. "Yeah, I'll be sure to do that."

The line moved up a little more. Two more people and I would be in chimichanga _heaven_.

His grubby hand reached for me, clutching onto my left hand in order to shake it and leave me his mystery card. Cripes, he was warm.

"Please have fun. Go see your favorite characters and check out a few hot-spots. But a warning—" I should've paid more attention to this part. "—don't get too attached to anything. It's not real and you'll be back before you know it."

The line moved up again. One more person and a chimi would be _in my belly_.

"Sounds good, Mr. Flannel-Wizard," I said, giving him a leave-me-the-hell-alone-I'm-getting- _hangry_ kind of face.

He nodded and smiled. And with a poof, he vanished.

I should've been freaked out. I should've tossed that card into the nearest trash can. But…I didn't. Instead, I shoved that little slip of paper into the back pocket of my skinny jeans, knowing that I would forget the damn thing. I didn't usually keep little pieces of paper in my pockets; I had a very bad habit and I knew that I would probably be fishing out scraps of paper from my washing machine later. Lucky for me, though…this is not that kind of story.

The lady in front of me got some sort of weird sandwich thing. Pedro only _truly_ makes exceptional chimis, so I automatically knew that the lady was going to regret her decision. Either way, she should have shuffled out of the way a little faster.

Because she was moving so slow, I practically _pushed_ her away from the counter, smashing a crinkled ten-dollar bill on the Formica kiosk. Pedro didn't have to ask and I didn't have to say anything. He knew…he always knew.

And he was quick to make me a chimi bursting with rice, shredded chicken, cheese, and a medley of beans. He always added something special—a secret sauce that blended all of the flavors on the _inside_ of that beautiful little burrito-thing—before he fried it. After a few minutes of Pedro kinda giving me a concerned look, I shot him a face; a face that basically told me that I _definitely_ wasn't going to take advantage of Mr. Flannel-Hobo-Wizard's offer.

But I guess he wasn't convinced with silence. "Maria," he whispered, crossing his arms over his chest while the oil bubbled behind him. "Be careful."

He always called me Maria and I was never too upset about it. I mean, my name is Mary and Maria is pretty damn close. And I was never gonna call him out on it. I knew that he called me Maria because it was a familiar name and a part of his culture. And honestly, I was worried that if I corrected him, he'd never make me another chimichanga again. Which would _ruin_ my Monday dinner plans. Mexi-Monday has been a thing for _years._

"I'd be insane if I did," I said. "I'll chuck it the moment I'm done with dinner."

"Promise?" he asked with his adorable little Mexican accent.

"Sí," I oh-so-kindly replied with the one-of-two Spanish words I still remembered from four years of High School Spanish. In case you're curious, the other word is bueno, which I already used earlier. Boom boom, Señora Hiras. Look at me now. Wait, shit. That's three words.

"Oh-kay." He drew the word out, uncrossing his arms to shake the frying bin that held my beautiful chimi. Knowing that the glorious Mexi-Monday cuisine was done, he set the bin in a holder above the fryer and turned once more, giving me another critical look.

"Hey," I exclaimed, crossing my arms to mock my favorite kiosk owner. "I ain't gonna do it. So stop giving me that look."

"What look?" he asked, giving me a wry smile.

" _That_ look."

"Be careful, Maria," he whispered.

Jeez, I planned on letting the small interaction with Hobo-Wizard go. And now Pedro was making me really nervous. And it wasn't because my chimi was waiting on that rack for a little too long. Ah! It was probably cooling!

"I will," I said, glancing at my soon-to-be cold chimichanga.

He turned once more, shaking my chimi gently before putting it on a paper platter. He spooned some refried beans on to the plate and tossed on a fair bit of sour cream and salsa. Man, Pedro sure knew how to make a girl happy.

Before handing me my dinner, he gave me another look. And I snatched the plate from his hand, shoving my fingers into the ridiculously hot refried beans as I took it. Gosh, I'm such an impatient idiot.

I didn't even wait for Pedro to hand me my change. Nope. I just walked to the nearest clean table and sat down. And then I _destroyed_ that chimi. Gobbled it, devoured it, freaking _owned_ that delicious morsel.

It took me all but five minutes to guzzle up my food and I stared at my empty plate for a moment, mouth full of a mixture of beans and chimichanga. I glanced up at the clock, humming with a surge of electricity that definitely wasn't normal; it was probably giving me some sort of brain cancer, but I didn't really care.

No, I was distracted.

Pedro seemed pretty freaked out about Mr. Flannel-Hobo-Wizard and I couldn't help but wonder…

What could it hurt, right?

So I pulled the piece of paper from my left butt pocket and stared at it.

It was a simple piece of cardstock, on the front, it said, _Allakha-poof_. And on the back, it said…not a gosh darn thing. Blank.

I rolled the card between my fingers and smacked it against the tabletop, thinking.

As I mentioned before, my favorite character from the Avatar-verse is Admiral Zhao. I don't know why, but I've always had a soft spot for bad-boys. And now you're probably wondering why my favorite character isn't Zuko, aren't you? Well, as much as I adore Season One Zuko, I just can't really take him during Seasons Two and Three; and it's probably because Zuko ended up all turn-coat and got a happy ending. All in all, I like characters that _don't_ get their happy ending. Ozai may fit this bill, but he's bat-shit insane. And Azula, well, she's worse than Ozai…and she's not a male.

So, I always had a soft spot for ole Mr. Mutton Chops.

He was a character who intrigued the living daylights out of me. By far, he was the darkest character of Season One—seeing as how he was literally the only character who made an effort to _kill_ as many people as he could on multiple occasions…on a _kids show_ , no less.

And while he fired intense balls of flames at a young, little airbending Avatar, attempted to beat up a teenage prince with a tragic backstory, _blew up_ said prince, and invaded the Northern Water Tribe, I watched him. I mean… _watched_ him.

Like, if he was real, I'm pretty sure he would have got a restraining order against me. And I honest to goodness wouldn't blame him.

My obsession with Captain-turned-Commander-turned-Admiral Zhao was off the charts, next level, fan girl, _crazy_. I would make the dude obsessed with cabbages walk away in shame.

So I stared at that little card, wondering if I would be able to meet my favorite character if I said that little word in fancy font on the front.

But, what would I do when—not when, _if_ —I got there?

I sure as hell wouldn't do the OC-est thing out there and meet up with the Gaang or tag along with Zuko's crew. No, I would head straight for Zhao and then...

I stopped thinking, my mind clearing as I considered what could actually happen when I said the magical word on the piece of paper.

Well, first thing first…there was no way I was guaranteed to be dropped anywhere near my mutton-chopped monkey man. Would I have to travel the Avatar-verse, asking about my beef-cake of an Admiral until I happened to run into him? That was a very real possibility. And I didn't like that. Nope, I didn't like that one bit.

But still…the thought of that man, all bare-chested and muscly while he fought against Prince Zuko in that Agni Kai. Sweet baby Jesus, it made me _tremble_.

I _wanted_ to meet him. No, not wanted… _needed._

So, I grabbed the card, imagining my handsome Admiral. Gosh, I wanted him so bad. And not the fangirly, cute type of want; I mean the sexual, I'm gonna _ravage_ him when I see him kind of want.

Yeah, I flat-out _desired_ that man on top of me, grinding into me as I slid around on his red, silk sheets. I imagined his rock-hard, I-have-a-big-ship-and-I'm-not-overcompensating-for- _anything_ cock deep inside me, stretching me to the point of bursting. And I was getting warm…uncomfortably warm.

Hey! Don't you dare judge me, I'm twenty and I'm sure that I'm not the first person with these kind of thoughts. I get it…he's portrayed to be in his late thirties or early forties. But I just can't _help_ myself.

I've only had a few sexual partners in my life. Two, if anybody is actually counting, which I thought was pretty damn good. And the thought of that overzealous firebender always caught my attention. Even if he wasn't real, he could defiantly be lucky guy number three...

Yep. I was gonna do this. I was gonna say the word on this stupid card and I was gonna get me some fiery, no-self-control Admiral Zhao dick.

And so I looked around myself, ignoring a glaring Pedro as I mumbled, "Allakha-poof."

* * *

 **A/N: what do you think? Interested? If yes, favorite, alert, and review.**

 **I don't own Avatar: The Last Airbender.**


	2. Meeting My Stud Muffin

Have you ever experienced interdimensional travel? From firsthand experience, I can tell you that it is _not_ pleasant. Think of the most uncomfortable experience you've ever had and amplify it by about…well, how about infinity? I'm talking about the agony of all of your molecules and atoms being tragically torn apart and then reassembled to accommodate a cartoon world. In short, it _suuuucks_. Big time.

There was no cutesy and glittery teleportation sequence that happens on a few animes. There was no mystical portal that automatically transported me there. Nope. There was just a very horrible pick-apart-your-entire-body feeling before I was tossed into the Avatar-verse. Lucky for me, I was thrown face first into said universe, falling over the mother flipping _ocean_!

I know what you're thinking right now. _Man, she's gonna die! This story is gonna be over so quick!_

Trust me, the thought was mutual. I really did think that I was going to die. I wasn't even going to make it five minutes in the Avatar world before I drowned in the middle of the gosh darn ocean. Tragic, if I do say so myself.

However, I didn't die. And we both know that. I mean, who else would spend so much time writing down my story? Certainly not Zuko! He's a mother-losing turncoat who can't even get a proper girlfriend. Even Aang couldn't capture _my_ awesomeness and epic way to convey dialogue. In fact, most of the things that are about to happen would make that phallic-looking, bald-headed monk turn so red that people would confuse him with a blue-arrowed, sometimes-veggie-sometimes-fruit-looking tomato.

Heh. A penis-like, tomato monk. Priceless.

Back to my epic entrance into the Avatar world…

Well, I was falling. I'm pretty sure I mentioned that already, but I think that it's important to repeat…mostly because there is a very large chance that if _you_ ever meet Mr. Flannel-Hobo-Wizard and you accept his offer and automatically whoosh yourself to Avatar-land, there's a _pretty_ big chance that you're going to find yourself in mid-air over the Earth Kingdom. And you're gonna go _splat_ when you hit the ground.

Because I practically went _splat_ when I hit that ice-cold water.

Don't even, reader! I can see your mind whirling again. I mentioned 'ice-cold' and you instantly thought, _gosh darn it, she's gonna meet Zuko in the Southern Water Tribe and we're going to go through another one of those classic OC bullshit stories. This is gonna suck._

I could not agree with you more, there. Meeting a teenage, spoiled, boy-prince with a ridiculously stupid haircut would kill the mood of _any_ fangirl who had her panties wet with the thought of an amazingly attractive beefcake of a man like Zhao. Zuko would make me so dry that my snatch would be uncomfortably _crusty_.

Lucky for me, though… _that_ did not happen. No, as I was falling, I just-so-happened to see a Fire Nation cruiser speeding through the water a little bit away. And when I performed the world's worst belly flop, I kinda…vegged out until I thought it was appropriate to…ya know...overcome my fear of practically dying and _move._

I am _not_ a good swimmer. Mom and Dad never thought that I would need it, so I never took a swim class. And I always felt super self-conscious at public pools to try and practice. So, while I was performing whatever action that I wanted to consider _swimming_ , I'm pretty sure that the men who were on the deck of that damn cruiser were having a good ole time while they lowered a red buoy down to me.

That buoy was a freaking _life saver_. I'm not kidding when I say that I was—and still am, actually—a shitty swimmer. I was _flailing_ in that water, so extremely happy that a Fire Nation ship happened to be chugging along nearby.

And, truthfully, I was super stoked that my chances of meeting Zhao were skyrocketing thanks to being in Fire Nation territory. Little did I know that he was actually _on board_ , performing whatever duties he needed to accomplish while being his amazingly awesome and sexy self. Mmm, oh yeah, babe, you boss them soldiers around. Do it for the Vine.

Getting distracted! Back to me, ya know, the girl who was just molecularly torn apart and reassembled before being chucked into the Avatar world over the ocean when she can't swim. Yeah…definitely not with my stud muffin. Not yet, no.

As the soldiers hauled my soggy ass out of the ocean, I had a few moments to gape at the enormity of the Fire Nation ship. That thing was _huge_. And I can't lie, there was a moment when I was absolutely terrified about what was about to happen.

Would they arrest me? Toss me in the brig to rot for the rest of my days? Why didn't I think this through? Of course they were going to be super sketch with my sudden appearance in the middle of the ocean after a scream-filled, terror jump through mid-air. Hell, I would probably perform an exorcism on somebody, complete with sage and holy water, if _I_ witnessed something like that.

So, after they finally pulled my ocean-soaked butt-wipe of a cartoon body over the railing, they stood around me for a moment, silent as non-important, voiceless characters could be.

"Hello," my adorable-sounding cartoon voice said, waiving an equally new animated hand in front of me as a polite gesture that said, _thanks so much, please don't imprison me or kill me. Please._

Nobody said a flipping word. Figures. There were only a few characters in the Avatar world that actually had voices. And for a moment, I didn't consider this to be weird. No, I actually kind of expected it to be the case. I mean, I somehow managed to travel to a different dimension, but I was in a _cartoon_. I was in a pre-production scene of Avatar: the Last Airbender. Not everybody could be given a speaking part, or be voiced by the dulcet tones of Jason Isaacs.

Speaking of Mr. Isaacs, was my arm-candy nearby?

Frantically, I stood, testing my newly doodled legs under my questionably altered body. Goodness, I hoped I still had all of the working parts to make my mission a success. How much did the animators actually draw, anyway?

Ohmygoodness, what if Zhao was just like a Ken doll between those muscled thighs? Don't question me, readers! It's a valid question! What if my Admiral was legitimately just a man minus his disco stick? Or worse: what if he had a plastic pair of fake undies around his torso, preventing me from getting to his goody-goody no-no area? That would put a major damper on my sexy-time mission.

As I stood there, contemplating how horrible a penis-less Zhao would be, a few of those no-name and voiceless characters started to fish out the backpack that apparently followed me through the time-space continuum. I honestly didn't think it would follow me since it was on the chair next to me at Pedro's stand, but apparently, Mr. Flannel-Hobo-Wizard was kind enough to have it tag along for the ride…which was damn nice of him now that I think about it.

"Hey, stop poking that!" I screamed at a random soldier who was legit stabbing my backpack with the pointy end of his spear. Jeez, how rude, am I right? "Would you just hand it to me? What are you—" He managed to unzip the biggest pocket for a look-e-loo. " _Get outta there_!"

Even though I was waterlogged, I managed to evade the no-name crew's grabby hands and snatch my bag, hugging it close to my chest like it was the only thing I had in the world—which was 100% true. I was very, very uncompliant until I heard a voice. Unfortunately, it wasn't the velvety pipes of my soon-to-be love bunny, but it was a voice, nonetheless.

"You there!" some dude said, waggling a finger at me like he was some hotshot. No pun intended since it turned out he was a firebender.

I kinda looked around for a moment, expecting a scripted response from one of the no-name soldiers, but apparently Nickelodeon couldn't spring a few extra bucks for some dialogue for the Fire Nation crew, so I just sorta gaped at Mr. Waggle-Finger and pointed at myself in a _you talkin' to me_ way.

"Yes," he said, shit-colored eyes glancing down at my stupidly animated hands. "I'm talking to you."

"Sweet," I responded, bouncing on my heels like some kind of little kid…because, ya know, this _was_ my first official interaction with anybody from Avatar-land. "What can I do for you, sir?"

I wanted to sound semi-professional since I still had the prison thing on my mind. And it wasn't like I was in a place to completely disrespect the dude; especially considering how disrespect kinda landed you in the middle of the fire duel where half of your face can get burned off. And I sorta like my face, so I wanted it to be _not_ on fire for as long as it could be.

He gave me a stony look, not impressed with my bouncy personality or my watery appearance. "Origins?" he pointedly asked, sizing me up.

I'm going to go into a bit of a description about myself which is very, very important now that I think about it. It's critical for a few reasons; the first reason is because of my physical description. I have blue freaking eyes. Not Katara's classically Fanfiction _endless blue sea_ blue, but they are baby blue. And sometimes, they turn a little green when I'm angry…not that I was angry at that moment, but I thought it was worth mentioning. My hair is blonde. But not a Kelly Bundy from _Married…With Children_ blonde, more like a dirty blonde that gets significantly lighter the more time I spend in the sun. Oh, and I'm pale. Like…ridiculously pale. My skin has two shades; the first is ghostly white…and the second is red (which only happens when I'm extremely embarrassed or sunburnt).

The second reason is because of my attire. Everybody in the Avatar-verse wore kimonos or military uniforms. Me, on the other hand...well, I was wearing a black Reebok jersey tee, American Eagle high-rise jeggings, Columbia ankle socks, and yellow Converse sneakers.

So, theoretically, the Fire Nation dude who was standing in front of me was having a hard time trying to figure out which Nation, Kingdom, or Tribe I was from. Yeah, I left out the Nomads—they're dead until like…eighty years from now.

Blue eyes. Blonde hair. Pale skin. Weird clothes.

I get why he was looking me over, especially since I just sorta _poofed_ into his world and landed in the ocean. But I needed to convince him that I wasn't a savage from the Water Tribe or a rock-headed Earth Kingdomer. So, I did the only logical thing that wouldn't get me sent to prison…I _lied_.

"Fire Nation," I gasped, saying it as quickly as I could in order to muffle the words together. Obvious lie.

 _But the idiot bought it._

Security in the Fire Nation Naval forces is extremely lax, apparently.

"Good," he said, giving me one final up-and-down glance. "Come with me."

I wasn't in a position to argue, so I followed Mr. Waggle-Finger like a lost puppy across the deck of the Fire Nation cruiser. Occasionally, I paused to stare at a few mask-wearing crew members, wondering how many of them could actually _talk_ , before we entered the ridiculously humongous conning tower.

"Excuse me," I whispered, cupping my animated mouth with a doodled hand. He continued to walk down the hall, but turned his head slightly, alerting me that I could talk. "So, um," I paused, trying to think of the most appropriate way to ask about the location of my beefcake Admiral. He was the only reason why I was _on_ the cruiser in the first place. "Do you know a soldier named Zhao?"

Let's get this straight, reader… _I had absolutely no clue when or where I actually was in the Avatar-verse_. Technically, the show is over right now. Zuko ended up as Fire Lord, there was a massive celebration, and everybody got all antsy when the Avatar: the Last Airbender comic series came out. And then, of course, we were gifted with Korra and her adventures for a few years. But both of those series came to _epic_ conclusions. And I had no idea if I was actually pre or post ATLA.

And that was extremely concerning to me. You see, I only went there for some Admiral Zhao cock. And if I somehow managed to completely jump past Season One, I was going to be disappointed…because (SPOILER) we all know that Zhao _dies in the last freaking episode of the first season._ However, he did get a brief, ultra-scary cameo in LOK…for like…two seconds.

Still, the expanse of time that Zhao actually existed in the Avatar world was enormously small. I mean, even though the man was the secondary antagonist for Season One, he _barely_ had any screen time. And when he did, it wasn't all that epic…except for the fish-killing scene. That was pretty awesome.

So my question was vague. I didn't allude to any titles since Zhao _technically_ started off as a Commander and I didn't want to give Mr. Waggle-Finger any spoilers in case the whole Butterfly Effect thing happened. Which I really should have paid more attention to…

"Commander Zhao is in charge of this ship, actually," Waggle-Finger said nonchalantly, still leading us through a surprisingly dim hallway for a nation that worshiped fire.

I _squealed_. And I don't know if he didn't hear me, chose to ignore me, or if Nickelodeon couldn't afford a piece of dialogue to respond to a twitchy fangirl, but he didn't say anything.

After I composed myself, I looked straight ahead, to the back of Mr. Waggle-Finger's black-haired, top-knotted head. "So, uhh." I am so gosh darn eloquent. "Can I meet him?"

The dude stopped and I face-planted into the back of his armor. "That's where we're going," he said, giving me a perplexed side-eye.

I _squealed_ again. "Oh my gosh," I panted, desperately patting myself to try and dry out my clothes, "how's my hair?"

"We just pulled you out of the ocean," he oh-so-smartly replied. "You look horrible."

Dick.

I frowned, very unhappy with Mr. Waggle-Finger's retort. This was not how I imagined meeting my handsome Admiral. No, I envisioned myself sprawled out on his silken bedsheets like one of those girls from Playboy. I would be in my underwear, stroking the flesh of my left outer thigh as I watched him stare at me, dumbfounded. And then he would proceed to ruin me for other men…because nobody could ever match the _heat_ that would come from _that_ lovemaking. Nope, never in a million years.

We turned a corner and my mood changed. _I could hear him._

Somewhere nearby, my stud muffin was _talking_ and I could _hear_ him.

"…just a short resupply and we'll return to the blockade," Zhao's beautiful voice said, piercing through my eardrums and making my womanhood quiver.

"Oh, sweet baby Jesus," I whispered to myself while I fondled the straps to my backpack.

Waggle-Finger strutted into the room like it was nothing. And I sheepishly followed, staring at my beautiful beefcake like I was going to _devour_ him. Which I definitely _would have_ if he asked me for a blowie. Oh yeah, I would've shoved his entire dick down my throat without so much as saying 'hi' to him. But, I didn't.

Zhao stared at me. And it wasn't the sexually-charged kind of stare that I was craving. No, it was a _what the hell is that_ kind of stare…which upset me.

"You're wet," Zhao remarked, blinking at me.

My thoughts were very dirty. Here's a snippet: _In more ways than one, my handsome no-self-control stud muffin. Give me your hand and we both see how truly wet I am._

Instead of saying _any_ of that, I said, "Yeah, sorry about this. I wasn't planning on meeting you this way."

His eyebrows lowered, giving me a skeptical scowl. Was he _trying_ to make me orgasm in public? I mean, that look was intimating, but it was a classic Zhao facial expression that I absolutely adored.

"And how did you expect to meet me?"

Well, I certainly couldn't answer that question with what I just told you, readers. But I could answer it in _other_ ways.

"Dry, for the most part," I muttered, rubbing the back of my reddening neck. My thoughts were getting too wild and I was getting embarrassed without actually doing anything abnormal. "And maybe _not_ in your office."

I looked around the chart-filled room. Every single wall was filled with a map of the ocean or the coastline of the Earth Kingdom or Fire Nation. Hell, some areas of the floor were covered in scraps of maps and it left me very, very curious. What episode was I in?

"Interesting," he said, examining me very carefully.

I watched his eyes gloss over my face and stare at my clothes. I couldn't help but notice how his hazel eyes lingered on my soaked breasts. Obviously, he could see my nipples through my thin bra and tee. And instinctively—even though I actually _wanted_ him to stare—I crossed my arms over my chest and blushed.

I looked at Mr. Waggle-Finger, who was chilling by the doorway. And then I stared at my love-bunny. "Could you send the crony away?" I asked. "I kinda wanted to only see you."

Zhao seemed amused and waved his hand, alerting Waggle-Finger that he could scram. Finally, Zhao and I were alone, each one staring at each other incredulously. My head was turned to one side, eyeing up the reason why I endured being torn apart and reassembled before being dumped into the ocean of another universe. _Worth it_ , I concluded.

For the sake of keeping this story rated T, I'm limiting myself to one really big no-no word per chapter. And right now, I'm going to use that word.

Fuck…he was gorgeous.

And I mean it, too. Go ahead and Google my beefcake if you can't remember what he looks like. That man is downright sexy. He radiates more sex appeal than any other human alive. M. Night Shama-llama-ding-dong clearly didn't get a handsome-enough actor to portray him in his failure of a live-action movie.

Nope. Nobody else in _any_ world can duplicate Zhao's masculine-looking chin, his set-in eyes with subtly worn wrinkles, or those amazing mutton chops.

"So," his smooth voice taunted, "you wanted to see me?"

My hair was dripping but I didn't have the nerve to wring out my locks on his office floor. "Yes, actually," I nodded, clenching and unclenching my hands on my backpack straps so I had something to do.

He stood from his chair and took a few steps closer to me. Earlier, I may have displayed a lot of raw confidence when I talked about jumping his bones and shoving his dick in my mouth. But in the moment he was coming toward me, hands latched together behind his back, I lost my all my self-assurance and practically crumbled.

In reality, I pushed myself up against the nearby wall and _meeped_ as he approached.

"About what?"

Honestly, I didn't have a darn clue what kind of excuse to pull out of my butt. I didn't think I would actually meet my monkey man for a little while. In fact, I didn't think through my first interaction with him…at all.

In my head, things were so simple. There was no talking…there was just me, on his bed. And then there was _me and him_ on his bed, doing some of the most sinful things I could imagine.

There was none of… _this_.

"I…uhh," I paused, trying to think of the best thing I could. "I came to warn you."

"Warn me?" He took a few more steps. He was so _close_. I could smell his cologne and I could lean forward and lick his side-burned cheek if I desired.

"Yes," I hissed, trying my damnedest to focus on a lie. I picked the best semi-lie that I could think of. Of course, the little piece of truth that came out would cause the biggest Butterfly Effect in the history of the Avatar-verse. "The Avatar has returned."

Zhao straightened his back and looked at me, eyes narrowing to consider my words.

I'm going to remind you one more time that I still had no idea which episode I landed in. I could have been in S1E3, the episode where Zhao was introduced. I also could have been in S1E13, when the Blue Spirit came to town and destroyed the place. Lucky for me, though…I was dropped _riiiight_ before episode 3, which meant the I had just said the worst thing ever to a man who wanted nothing more than to catch a certain airbending kid who could master bending the four elements.

Realistically, I was about to be cock-blocked by a twelve-year-old pecker in a yellow and orange jumpsuit.


	3. Reebok-Level Space Ranger

Pro-tip: If you ever find yourself in front of my stud muffin Commander-soon-to-be-Admiral Zhao, _don't_ tell him that Aang has suddenly resurfaced. _And an even better pro-tip:_ bring a blanket to the Avatar-verse because prison is _nipple-crippling cold._ My nips could cut glass. No joke!

Yeah, that's right…my love bunny tossed me in the slammer the moment those words came out of my mouth. Could I blame him? Nah; he probably thought that I was deranged. And as I chilled in prison—no pun intended—I thought that I _was_ deranged, too.

Here's the thing, the moment I said "the Avatar has returned" was the moment of truth. Zhao just sorta walked out of the room like I was a bumbling idiot and returned with two guards who hastily tackled my pale, boney ass to the ground before they drug me down to the brig.

And even though I screamed for my beefcake—let's be real, I somehow… _maybe_ …sorta definitely called him a cock-muppet pickle-eater the moment his two cronies tackled me—he _ignored my bitch ass_ and let them drag me away. The nerve!

I mean…I _suppose_ the thing was my fault. _I_ was the one who let that little tidbit slip. And let me tell _you_ , reader: I had _plenty_ of time to think about my little faux-pas while was I locked up.

Seriously! What sort of logical person blurts something like that out? Yeah, well…apparently I'm not very logical. Or smart.

And, as I was freezing my butt off on a ship whose people worshiped fire (I'm _never_ going to get over that), I had plenty of time to think about my life choices…example: leaving Pedro's chimichanga stand for a cartoon universe _with absolutely no guarantee of the duration of my trip._ My brain was _whirling_ while I was sitting in that cell.

You see, Flannel-Hobo-Wizard didn't exactly give me a decent answer on the _length of time_ for my cartoon-inspired vacation. No, he said that I'd be in Avatar-land for a few days or a few weeks. And, now that I wasn't wet with the thought of seeing my stud-muffin in person, I could only think about how that was a _very_ big timespan. Technically, season one of Avatar: the Last Airbender lasted one _literal_ season: winter. And, considering that I only wanted to see my beefcake, I was anticipating a very, very short vacation.

However, now that I'm sitting here typing this all out…I can tell you that _that_ didn't happen.

Readers, make sure to read the fine print on the "blank" side of Flannel-Hobo-Wizard's card. Here's why: have you ever seen _The Santa Clause 2,_ where Tim Allen has to find a Mrs. Clause or he's gonna lose his super swag gig? Well, Scott Calvin finds out that the card that the old Santa gave him was filled—freaking _littered_ —with special instructions. And as I sat in that prison cell, that little scene was the only thing on my mind and I _searched_ for that mother-flipping card.

Those bimbo soldiers who hauled my ass to prison let my keep my backpack, which I gotta say, was absolutely dumb. Remember what I said last chapter, readers: security in the Fire Nation Naval forces is extremely lax, apparently. So, I quickly searched through my soaked jean pockets and realized that I was card-less. A little panicky, I started to empty my backpack.

My baby blue Dakine (yeah, yeah, shuttup…I'm a walking advertisement, I get it) backpack was stuffed with some legit school supplies. A notebook, a blue and purple binder filled with college notes (international policy and American politics, respectively), a few pens, a single mechanical pencil, a small booklet about the United Nations, my waterlogged laptop, an extra pair of socks (don't judge), and my cell phone quickly covered the floor of my cell.

I rummaged through _everything_ trying to find that card. I flipped every…single…mother-loving page of each book, binder, and notepad until my fingers got all old-people prune-like. And then I stopped, panting, as I thought of the worst possible scenario. Dude, I thought that I was gonna _die_.

I shit you not, but I'm pretty sure that Flannel-Hobo-Wizard was watching me or something because when I searched through the backpack one more time, it was on the bottom of the place where I usually keep my cell phone, sticking to the light blue fabric. To me, finding that card was like finding that single mystery French fry in the bottom of a fast-food bag. Ya don't know how you missed it when you originally took everything out of the sack, but you ate the portion that you were given and you aren't quite satisfied. And man, when you find that extra fry…that thing is _gold_.

So, I grabbed that little mo-fo and flipped it between my fingers. It was a little soggy from my ocean adventure, but lucky for me, the pouch that I found the card in was water-resistant. I did everything my little brain could think of doing. I held it up to the flickering sconce on the wall, thinking that maybe Hobo-Wizard gave me a hidden message in lemon juice and I blew on it with the hottest breath that I could muster. No luck.

When I couldn't think of any other classic message-revealing methods, I plopped on the floor of my cell and spread myself out, tossing the card back into the backpack for future inspection. My fingers, toes, and head touched each wall of my cell and all I thought about was how cozy the place could be with a cute little bedspread and a painting or two. And maybe no bars, that was kinda a big one. Curtains? Maybe those would work.

My thoughts were immediately disrupted by the pitter-patter of boots and a squealing door hinge. I didn't bother to move. I mean, I was pretty positive that my stud muffin wasn't going to come back anytime soon.

Oh, how wrong I was.

"So—" The sound of Jason Isaacs's voice forced me to sit upright. I stared at Commander Zhao, my inner monologue once again adopting its perverted nature. "—you claim that the Avatar has returned."

He gave me a tight-lipped smirk and wrapped his arms behind his back, clutching his wrists. Oh, shit…that pose again. I bit my lip. Could he tell that I was turned on again? I bet he could—I bet that he could _smell_ it. Him and his beasty body, super sick military training, and animal instincts…rawr.

When I got out of my stupor, I nodded at him and quickly got to my feet. I pushed myself against the steel bars and wrapped my hands around them. Man, all I wanted was for him to get closer and _touch me._

"Yes, sir," I said, still nodding like I was a four-year-old trying to get his attention. Come on, me…you already had it. Also, important point that I called him 'sir' again—I was still freaked out that he would burn my face off. Damn you, Zuko.

"What led you to that," he paused, looking over the stuff that was strewn about the cell floor, "conclusion?"

"Umm." Once again, my response was absolutely _eloquent_. "I'm a Space Ranger?"

First thing I thought of was actually Power Ranger; specifically, my favorite version of Power Rangers, which was Power Rangers…in Space (creative, I know). Somehow, though, it got combined with Toy Story in my head and I automatically thought Buzz Lightyear: Space Ranger. Either way, the premise was the same…I wanted to be the "chosen" one, the one who would defeat the great Emperor Zurg or Astronema, the "Princess of Evil".

Here's the thing though, you remember how I said my thoughts were perverted? Well, right then, I wasn't the _dirty_ kind of perverted, I was the twisted kind of perverted. You see, I didn't want to _defeat_ the evil, I wanted to _be_ the evil. Oh yes, this is going to be a story about how I joined the side of the Fire Nation.

Hey! Don't you get all critical, reader! This was my vacation and I planned on doing it the way I wanted to do it. Joining the Fire Nation, being with my stud muffin…hell, that was my ideal holiday. After all, none of this was real, anyway.

"A Space…Ranger?" Zhao asked, his eyebrows turning down in his confusion.

"Yeah," I said, still nodding. "Here's the thing though, Pookie." Guys, he _winced_ at the nickname. Note to self: choose another one. "I'm here to help you. No strings attached—well, I mean—" Here come my _dirty_ thoughts. Yes, _those_ kind of dirty thoughts. "—I mean, there _could_ be strings attached, I'm okay with light bondage." He gave me another weird look and I huffed. "Okay. Here's the thing…I'm going to straight up help you capture the last airbender."

"And why would you do that?"

I smiled at him and pulled myself as close as humanly possible to the bars of my cell. "Because I maybe…sorta…like you."

He took a step closer to me and he gave me another tight-lipped smirk. Oh, if my insides weren't puddling before, they certainly were now. He was close enough for me to smell his cologne again and I wafted it up like it was a forbidden scent. Mmm…I can smell it now: cinnamon and oranges. Like freaking Christmas minus the presents. Wait…wait…Zhao was my present. And I could definitely unwrap him. Oh yeah, I could totally strip him down to his birthday suit and ho, ho, ho myself _right_ up to him.

"How could you 'like me'? We've never even met."

Damn him and his super logical, animated self. Jeez, I didn't think that this would be so flipping hard.

"Let's just say that I've been watching you for a little while." Good cover, me. Yeah, that didn't sound creepy…at all. "And I have to say, I'm disappointed with your future."

"Are you a fortuneteller or something? Because I don't believe in that sort of phooey."

Oh yeah, reader. He said phooey.

"No. I'm certainly not a fortuneteller. I'm just a twenty-year-old college girl who really, really likes bad boys. And you're definitely—" A small swath of my pink tongue darted across my bottom lip. I was totes flirting with him. "—a bad boy."

"What's your name, Space Ranger?"

"Mary."

"Ma-ri?" he asked.

Gosh darn him! Pedro never got my name right, and that was okay. But dang nabbit, I wasn't going to let Zhao get away with mispronouncing the most common name in the world.

"No, Honey Bear." Another nickname that he didn't like. "Mary."

"Mary," he repeated, testing it. The way he said my name, I wondered how it would sound when he was screaming it while I was hiding him like a horsey. Oh, I bet that it would be _divine._

"That's me," I smiled.

"Well," he extended his hand to me, a gesture that I could only assume was a handshake, "nice to meet you."

Let me tell you about me, readers. I'm not exactly a fast human being. In gym class, I managed to run the mile in about 17 minutes; the best that I've ever done is 14:37…terrible, I know. But in the moment his hand was stretched out to me, waiting for me to shake it, I moved _quicker than the Flash._ I freaking _pounced_ on that hand and clutched it with both palms, shaking it up and down like it was a well pump.

The best part? He was warm. Like, extremely, almost uncomfortably, hot to the touch. And remember, I was still wet and soggy, chilling in a prison cell. So, I totally wanted to get super close to him.

"Nice to meet you too, Commander."

He grinned at me— _grinned at me_ , readers! I was…like…15% of the way to a full out smile. And then he walked away, out of the brig entirely.

It took me a second.

"Hey!" I screamed, pounding the bars to my cell. "Hey! You left me behind! Yo!"

Damn him.

* * *

We all know the basics to prison etiquette: be good and you get rewarded. But let me tell you, readers, it was super-duper hard to be good when all you had around you was three steel walls and a wall of bars. Good thing I had my trusty backpack.

"Backpack, backpack," I sang in my best Dora: the Explorer sing-song voice I could scrounge up, digging through my knapsack for the umpteenth time trying to uncover something that wasn't there the _last_ time I checked.

Next thing I knew, I could hear the familiar screech of the door opening. No big deal, it was probably Waggle-Finger—whose name was actually Chuck, I shit you not—bringing me my dinner: jook…a runny rice concoction. Yummy.

A tray was sat down on the floor and shimmied through the bars while I kept singing my song.

"Backpack, backpack. On the backpack loaded up with things and knickknacks, too. Anything that you might need I got inside for you. Backpack, backpack. Backpack, backpack. Yeah!"

Somebody cleared their throat and I looked up. Oh, shit. My love bunny was staring at me, clearly amused by my Nick Jr. song.

"Um." I looked around, not really aware how long I was singing. "How long were you listening?"

He smirked. "Not that long. You're a horrid singer, though. Perhaps you should invest your time in other feminine hobbies."

Readers, I'm not above bitch-slapping cartoon characters. Trust me, after two days of being in prison, I was about fed up with the whole idea of being in the Avatar world. So I scowled at him, perturbed with his response.

"Rude," I commented, my blue eyes narrowing at him.

"Oh," he tatted, tapping his curly-toed boot against my cell bars, "and here I was about to let you out."

I looked at him, my face softening as much as I could make it. The idea of getting out of that damp prison was really, really enticing. I honestly wasn't even thinking about jumping Zhao's bones (computer typed out bones, but I really wanted to say boner) and I got to my knees. I didn't want to beg him, but there didn't seem like any other way.

"Please let me out. I promise that my motives will only benefit you."

He smirked and a piece of me shouldn't have been surprised that he was enjoying my groveling. Throughout the Avatar series, Zhao was nothing less than a power-hungry maniac. Having absolute control over every situation was his jam.

"Really?" he asked. "Why don't you tell me a little bit more about yourself. I can't help but notice your," he paused and looked me up and down, "attire."

" _Space Ranger_ ," I snarled, kinda pissed off. We had been going through this few the past few days, now. Though, this was the first time that he had come in and given me dinner. "This outfit is what all of the top rangers wear."

"And is 'Reebok' your rank?"

I looked down at the sideways logo and stifled a chuckle. "Oh yeah," I smiled. "Reebok is the best of the best, ya know."

"Interesting." He bent down and inspected me again. This time, though, he focused on my eyes and hair. "Your physical attributes are unusual. You originally told my captain that you were Fire Nation. Care to explain?"

My nose twitched. "Let me tell you something, Honey Bunny." He winced and I was enjoying his discomfort. So far, I had used quite a few pet names for him. If you want a list, wait until the end of the chapter. "I'm _not_ Fire Nation. I told that to Chuck so he would get off my back and lead me to my true target: you. You're the reason why I'm here, Commander Zhao. And if you let me out of this damn cell, I can guarantee you that I won't disappoint you."

A soft laugh escaped his throat. It wasn't a jovial sound; it was definitely condescending.

"I have yet to trust you, Space Ranger Mary."

I winced. I would have preferred it if he would have attempted to call me something cute. Babe, sweetheart, darling…honestly, any one of those would have been fine. But to call me 'Space Ranger Mary,' it just sounded so horribly…cold.

"Well, locking me in a cell won't let me earn it," I quipped. Kinda true when you think about it.

He considered that for a moment and tilted his head to the side. "If you take one step out of my sight, I can guarantee you that you'll regret it."

Oh. An opportunity.

"Sweet Pea," I stood to my full height and grabbed the cell bars again. "I can promise you that I won't ever leave your sight." I bit my lip, drawing it into my mouth a little bit. Did he understand my innuendo?

Unfortunately…no, he did not.

Instead of looking at my hungry, desperate-ass face, he unlocked my cell door and I sprinted out of the damn thing, dragging my backpack behind me.

"So," I smiled, "where to, Commander Zhao?"

"First thing, first," he scolded, stepping super close to me. Oh, goodness. That cologne again: Christmastime, stripping, birthday suits, and happy endings. "We need to get you a more suitable outfit. Your clothes are weird."

I looked down at myself. Black Rebook Jersey tee, American Eagle high-rise jeggings, Columbia socks, yellow Converse. "They're normal to me," I sighed. "But okay. Just…don't make me wear pink, alright?"

All I could imagine was me wearing some sort of clown suit like Ty Lee's and I shuddered, thinking about all the pinkness of it. Blech. Important tip about me: my favorite color is blue.

"We have red," he nodded, somewhat pleased with his admission. "Lots and lots of red."

Understatement of the year, readers.

I followed Zhao out of the brig, passing barracks filled with young soldiers, armoring themselves up for their nightly duties. Even though I was curious to see if any of them could speak, I continued traipsing after my beefcake as we made it to the room he was gunning for. He opened the Z-barred door and hopped inside, gesturing me to follow. Of course I sped after him, entering a very dark room with my beloved naval officer.

He had a small fire in his hand—my first exposure to a bending art. And let me tell you, it was awesome. And when we were both inside, he fired that small flame to a few sconces, lighting the entire room with a romantic, flickering light.

There may have been boxes all around us and he may have just locked me up for two days, but I would have dry-humped that man right then and there. Hell, I would have gotten off on him something terrible.

Instead, though, he continued walking through the room until he paused at a box. He rummaged through the damn thing and pulled out what he was searching for, holding it up in the air so I could look at it.

A dress, readers. A ridiculously ridiculous red dress. The only thing that would have made it more comical is if it looked like Ron Weasley's fancy wizard robes. So, I snorted at it.

"Um, I haven't worn a dress since I was three. They aren't exactly…compatible with me."

"All proper women in the Fire Nation wear dresses. If you're going to parade around as one of us, you need to look like a proper lady," he remarked.

I couldn't fight with that logic. I really wanted to keep my Chuck Taylors, though. And, obviously, Converse and dresses only look good in anime…or on really adorable-looking girls—both of which, did not apply to me in that situation. So, with a very dramatic huff, I snatched the dress from his hands and threw it across my shoulder.

"Put it on," he smirked.

I smirked back. "With _pleasure_."

Immediately, I started performing my sexiest strip tease, pulling my Reebok tee above my head with the grace of a hooker. And Zhao looked at me like I was the only woman in his dark mind. Hell, he didn't have to stare at my tits when they were cold and wet anymore. No, he was about to get a front-row seat to my lacy, nude-colored bra. And my panties? Oh yeah, he was about to see the sexiest Victoria Secret lingerie that I owned.

And then he flat-out bum-rushed me, ripping apart the remainder of my clothes with his teeth.

Lies, reader. All of that was a big fat lie. Yeah, here's how that situation went down…

I _fumbled_ with my tee, pulling it over my head while I miraculously managed to get it wrapped around my ear. Somehow, I managed to pry the fabric over my noggin while looking like a desperate child. My nude-colored bra looked worn hard since I hadn't taken off for two days and it was starting to smell a little funny, but I wasn't about to take it off. No, I had absolutely no idea how to do a chest binding and asking my stud muffin at that stage in our relationship seemed a bit…forward.

So, when my shirt was finally off, Zhao took a look at me, his hazel eyes casually glossing over my semi-nude form while I bent over and untied my shoes. Definitely not the way I usually get undressed at home…that's the truth.

Shoes first, readers. Shoes first.

So, while I hobbled trying to untie my Converse in my bra and jeans, Commander Dickhead _laughed_ at me.

"First time getting undressed in front of a delicious specimen like myself?" he mused.

"Well," I panted, royally pissed off with how he was reading my nervous vibes, "yes." I wiggled forward, trying to balance myself until he laughed again. "Ya know," I scolded, "this would go a lot smoother if you weren't so—" I interrupted myself. I was totes going to say _distracting,_ but when I stared at him, I couldn't admit that out loud. No, it still seemed a little too early; we were just acquaintances.

"So…what?" he asked, stepping forward and grinning at me.

Oh, he totally knew what was happening. Over the past two days, I was a nervous wreck around him. And even though he never alluded to the fact that my body turned to mush before his eyes, he was certainly taking advantage of that now. Kinda creepy. But kinda erotic.

Here's the big one, reader. That one word I'll only use one time a chapter.

"Fuck it," I snarled, throwing my shoe to the ground and looking at him like I was going to devour him. "I came here for you. Flat out…you." I was winded and my chest was heaving with my admission. "I want you to screw me."

He stepped forward one more time, getting so close to me that his armored body was _just barely_ pressed against my skin. "Now, was that so hard?"

I dead-panned. "What?"

He waved his hand in front of himself, nearing my face with his calloused digits. His movements were downright sexy. "You've been hiding behind so many lies; it's nice to see that you're finally telling the truth."

Instantly, I got irritated, maybe a little bit irate if I'm being honest. "You've got to be _kidding_ me?" I snapped. "This whole time, you _knew_?"

"Mary," he chided, clicking his tongue at me like I was a child. My face reddened at the sound of my name. "I knew what you wanted the moment you walked into my office."

What a twat.

"And?" I asked, narrowing my eyes at him.

"And what?"

"Am I gonna get a bit of your dick or not? Because I'm ready and waiting."

He smirked at me. "I'm flattered with your interest. But, I must admit…you're ridiculously ugly."

That comment rendered me speechless. Readers, I'm not the prettiest thing on the planet. I know that, honest, I do. But still, if you throw a bit of makeup on me, I don't look too bad. And so I stood there, gaping like a dying fish. Damn, that comment hurt coming from an _animated character_ , somebody who wasn't freaking _real._

"Oh, don't worry," he smiled, still toying with me. "I still plan on using you. And in the future, when I've exhausted your use, I'll give you what you want."

I remained very still, thinking about the dickhead's words. He may have sounded like an asshole right then and there, but here's all I really heard: 'I'll give you what you want.'

Oh. Oh my. Oh my goodness.

"I'll tell ya what," I growled, making myself seem _not_ pissed off with his ugly comment. "That doesn't sound too horrible. Wanna make this official?"

I held my hand out to him, looking down at my feet and realizing that I had only actually taken off one shoe.

He took my hand, shaking it calmly before he backed away from me, allowing me to resume changing my clothes.

* * *

Finally wearing a red kimono and a pair of weird sandals, Zhao and I stood on the deck of his ship. He had finally confiscated my backpack, which left me with nothing to mindlessly pack and unpack or sing about, and I was standing beside him, my arms crossed over my chest…straight up pouting.

Yeah, none of this was going the way that I had anticipated. I was going to have to _work_ for Zhao's affection. And that kinda pissed me off, especially since I was still curious about the whole timeline thing that I was talking about earlier.

You see, I still had no idea how long I would be in the Avatar-verse. I could've gotten zapped away on day three…or _hour three_. But I didn't. No, I was about to spend a considerable chunk of time in Avatarland. And now that I was there, out of a prison cell, I was slowly convincing myself to take advantage of every opportunity.

Slowly, we pulled into port, stilling alongside a massive wooden dock. And Zhao trudged down the gangplank, me in tow (as per our agreement). And so we carefully navigated the Fire Nation-controlled piece of Earth Kingdom harbor, passing a fair number of soldiers as we hiked. The sun was slowly going down, disappearing behind the ocean in the distance before I recognized where we were.

"Oh," I mumbled out loud. "Oh no."

Zhao turned to me, still maintaining a steady gait as we walked. "What's wrong with you, _Space Ranger_?" he mocked.

"I know where we are."

"The Earth Kingdom, obviously," he smirked.

"No, Pumpkin," I said, smirking as he winced at another one of my pet names, "we're about to get company."

"What are you talking about?" His voice raised a bit, a sign that he was getting a little irritated.

"Prince Zuko is coming." Blue and hazel eyes locked. "And I bet that he'll be here tomorrow."

* * *

 **A/N: Is everybody still enjoying the story? Let me know by fave/alerting/reviewing. Reviews are my favorite, though. So please take a moment to let me know what you think.**

 **To all of the people who have reviewed already, y'all are my heroes. Thank you so very much! :)**

 **And, as promised, Mary's pet names: Sugar, Buttercup, Babe, Dumpling, Tootsie, Dreamboat, Shnookums, Hot Stuff, Casanova, and my personal favorite...Sugar Daddy (which we'll be exploring later).**


	4. Pop-Tarts

I called it, readers. Flat out _callllllllled it._ Prince Angst and Uncle Chunky Monkey pulled into the harbor by the next morning, their ship torn to shreds thanks to a battle that I knew Zuko would lie about. But, before Zhao's intrusive introduction could happen, he had to come find me…and let me out.

You see, for some unknown and unfathomable reason, my love bunny thought that I was _still_ maybe a _smidge_ untrustworthy. And, even though he tried to play it off all coy, calling my presence on his ship a 'distraction' for the men or whatever, he—with his oh so awesome romantic sense—determined that I would be more comfortable behind a locked door. And, since all of the cabins were occupied by respected officers who I wasn't gaming on bunking with, Zhao had me stashed away in the brig. Because, ya know, _that was the best possible space for me_.

Seriously, somebody needs to teach that guy some manners or something. Damn.

So, that morning, when my beefcake came to get me, jingling the keys to my cell door like he was gonna get laid, I may have been a tad bit pissy. Come on, readers, no judgements, okay? If you weren't a firebender and _you_ were tossed in a cold, nipple-crippling prison cell, you'd probably be a little bit angry, too.

"Mornin'," I grumbled, rubbing the sleepy dirt out of my eyes.

He didn't bother giving me a gosh darn hello or nothing. No, he simply unlocked my door and stood in the opening, smirking down at me like I was his lucky rabbit's foot or something. "Zuko is here," he said, nonchalantly looking at his nails.

"Sweet!" I exclaimed, suddenly extremely excited about the day. Because, _come on_ , people. We know the important facts about this day; we've all seen the episode. Zhao is _shirtless_ by the end of the day! Shirtless! His entire chest is bare and we see him flinging fire all around an arena. _And,_ it turns out that he's nothing but a pile of muscled flesh glinting in the sunset as he comes extremely close to kicking Zuko's dainty ass. My womanhood was _already_ gushing at the thought. And I didn't even eat breakfast yet!

"You're awfully chipper," he quipped, still smirking at my excitement.

"And you're awfully dour for a man who's about to interrogate the prince's crew to find out how his ship got all busted up."

He gave me a look, a mixed look of horror and amusement. Here's what was probably running through his head: ' _how does she know about that?'_

So, like a normal human being who just got caught, my hands crashed against my lips and I gasped.

 _Oh,_ I thought, _oh no. He's gonna lock me up again!_

But, he didn't immediately slam the door closed in my face. Nope, he just gave me a squinty-eyed look; possibly a stink eye (just guessing because I've never seen one in real life). Then, he stepped aside, giving me enough room to walk past him.

Since I was in no mood to play around with a half-confused, half-amused Fire Nation officer, I scurried out of my grim cell, still wondering if I could hang curtains or pictures. My prison honestly needed a little bit of a woman's touch; and, if I was going to be spending every single night there, a set of privacy curtains should have been immediately provided.

I straightened my kimono as I passed him, rubbing my fingers against the weird-feeling fabric in order to iron out pesky nighttime creases.

"So," he started, seemingly ignoring my outburst, "you were right."

"Yeah. Duh, I'm a _Space Ranger_ ," I snarled, fiddling with a peculiar fold in the seam of my dress. He gave me another odd look, but this one looked a tad bit annoyed, so I decided to elaborate. "Basically, I can see what's about to happen before it happens."

"Is that…usual for your kind?"

"No." What was gonna do? Continue to lie to him? Well, maybe it wasn't a _terrible_ idea, because I did it anyway. "Not really. Most people aren't as awesome as I am. Best of the best, remember. I'm Rebook level and don't 'chu forget it."

I poked my finger at him like I was somebody important. And, even though I knew he could see right through my charade, he smirked and condescendingly said, "Oh, I certainly won't."

Dick.

We were sauntering through the bowels of Zhao's warship, occasionally passing an open door filled with barracks until I smelled something absolutely delicious. Jook—the watery rice concoction that I was forced to eat during my internment—was _not_ the only thing the cook knew how to make, apparently. Oh yeah, readers, let me describe the mouthwatering scent that captivated my nostrils.

I want you to close your eyes. Just for a second, okay? Did you do it? Did you? Probably not.

Okay, here we go.

I smelled Pop-Tarts. Strawberry Pop-Tarts. _Toasted_ strawberry Pop-Tarts, if we're being technical.

My lady bits had been watering a few minutes ago, but now, my _mouth_ was watering. Even though Pop-Tarts aren't considerably nutritious, as a college student, they were (and still are) my main meal source—them and Top Ramen ( _only_ the chicken, because the beef-flavored ones are just…okay), of course.

So, like a piss-poor college student, I held my nose high, smelling the sweet scent of a ripe, freshly-baked strawberry puree in a delectable pastry with a hint of super-sweet icing.

"Smells good, doesn't it?" Zhao asked, scoffing at my hasty nods. "They're my favorite: fruit puffs."

"They smell like Pop-Tarts," I breathily replied. My eyes rolled into the back of my head and I inhaled once more, enamored with the scent.

"Pop-Tarts?"

"Yeah. They're like a poor man's version of a fruit-filled pastry. Usually, they're coated with a thick coating of icing and sprinkles. They're what I usually eat for breakfast. Sometimes lunch, too. And when I'm really feeling lazy…dinner!"

I shot him a rueful smile and he looked in my direction for a fraction of a second. "Dessert for all meals, how lucky."

It wasn't a question, and his bleak tone made me frown. We passed the doorway where the delicious smell was coming from and I clutched my gurgling stomach. Apparently, he wasn't treating me to a nice breakfast…ugh! Disappointed with my super hungry and aching belly, I pressed ahead, determined to continue down the hall and out onto the warship's metallic deck.

Zhao took a moment to inhale when the sunlight poured against his skin. I could only assume that he was getting a little power boost from the sun's rays. I marveled him for a crisp second or two, watching as a soft breeze picked at his muttonchops, dislodging a few meticulously-placed strands. Like he knew, his large and calloused hands tugged at his facial hair and realigned the unkempt hairs, gently returning them to their rightful spots. In the morning light, with his face not scrunched together with the thoughts of being thwarted by a twelve-year-old airbender or a sixteen-year-old prince, Zhao looked eerily calm and ridiculously handsome; more handsome than any man I've ever seen in real life.

Eager to start the day—and start S1E3 thanks to the temptation of Zhao's bare chest—I looked at my stud muffin and smiled. "So, Puddin', what're we gonna do to Prince Fancy-pants?"

" _We_ aren't going to do anything," he rightfully said, not bothering to look at me as he continued to stand in the sunlight. "I, however, will take you up on your suggestion. Zuko's boat _is_ in disrepair, and I want to know why."

I groaned and he finally looked at me. "Look, Muffin, Prince Emo doesn't want anything to do with you. He's gonna lie and say that some sort of stupid Earth Kingdom ship crashed into him, when, in reality, he just had his first interaction with your world's blue-tattooed Jesus. So, let's just go rough him up for a bit. You can be all scary and I'll be your backup."

"You? Backup?"

"Yeah, man. Ever hear of pepper spray? I hear it's a real bitch. And it's—" I felt around my thighs. Usually, my little canister of pepper spray was on my keyring, which I _always_ kept on a carabiner by my right front pocket. Unfortunately, I wasn't wearing my jeans, and a sudden memory flashed into my head: I left my danger spray, rape whistle, and car keys on the table at Pedro's stand. Gosh darn it! I was gonna be absolutely _useless_ in Avatar-land. Like, damn! I couldn't run for shit, I knew nothing about martial arts, _and_ I didn't have the eye-murdering power of pepper spray. "—not…here."

"You're just _filled_ with surprises, aren't you?"

I pouted and crossed my arms against my chest like I was five. "Are we gonna go bug Zuko or not?"

"I want you silent."

"Yeah? Well, I want you naked. We can't _always_ get everything we want."

He paused at my comment and my eyes flicked suggestively down to his crotch before returning to his face.

"Promise me that you'll be silent or I'll return you to the brig."

Let me tell you a little secret, readers: if Zhao doesn't like what you say but he finds it amusing, he'll pull out the important parts of your sentence and focus _solely_ on the parts he wants to hear. This is what he got from my comment: no. This is what he should have gotten: _take me, I'm yours!_

"Ugh!" I sulked. " _Fine._ "

"Good."

He started walking across the deck and I had to mall-walk like a seasoned old lady to keep up with his long strides. When we finally managed to get to Zuko's battered ship, I was panting like an elderly bulldog who was just begging to be put down. And, when I finally caught my breath, it was stolen from me by the sight of something absolutely _unreal_.

In front of us, unbeknownst to my love bunny, was a large glass box filled with an assortment of unusual objects; unusual to him, probably, though very, very common to me (thanks to Hollywood). In the middle of the room-sized box was a black camera, retrofitted with the latest audio and video technology. Behind the camera was a barstool, flanked by twin black-clothed director's chairs. Off to the side of the room was a table adorned with a fruit, veggie, and meat tray. There was also an assortment of bagels and a variety of cheeses. On the far end of the vast table was a collection of waters, sodas, and fruit drinks.

My mouth was watering with the sight of all the normal-looking food.

So, I gunned it for that glass box and wailed my face up against it, banging on it with a closed fist as a way of saying, _'let me in!'_ Nobody was in there, though, so I returned to my confused beefcake and resumed scowling as Prince Angst and Uncle Traitor strolled down the dock.

All of a sudden, _boom!_ People fazed into the box and started operating the camera or watching the scene. My attention was instantly diverted to the woman behind the camera and the two men in the stand-alone director's chairs. Behold, readers! Lauren MacMullan, Michael Dante DiMartino, and Bryan Konietzko in the flesh! _Holy crap!_

I could hear the clack-clack-clack of the camera rolling and Lauren was maneuvering the intricate device around in _just_ the right angles, getting the entirety of the scene while the characters were going through their scripted dialogue.

I gaped in Zhao's direction and watched, thoroughly intrigued as he sauntered up to the unsuspecting Fire Nation Prince and his portly, ex-general uncle.

Zuko was muttering to his esteemed uncle in rushed, angry bursts. I knew the dialogue, since I had seen this particular episode more than I'd ever care to admit (shirtless Zhao—enough said). But, for those of you who don't really remember how absolutely amazing the tension in this meeting is, here we go. Keep in mind, I'm not going to do this often—mostly because the script maybe _kinda_ goes to the wayside after I'm in the Avatar World for a while. Oops, my bad.

"…Don't mention his name on these docks! Once word gets out that he's alive, every firebender will be out looking for him and I don't want anyone getting in the way," Zuko angrily snapped, still unaware that a devilishly good-looking eavesdropper was nearby.

Zhao took his chance, scaring the piss outta Zuko, which made me bite back a snort. "Getting in the way…of what, Prince Zuko?"

Instantly, the classic heartthrob of the Avatar series turned and faced the officer, sneering as his normal and disfigured eye took in the sight of his rival. " _Captain Zhao_ ," he grunted, smearing my love bunny's name through the dirt like it was a common curse word.

Zhao didn't seem to recognize the insult. That, or he chose to ignore it like he had done for me. "It's Commander now," he said with a small smile before turning to Iroh. "And General Iroh—great hero of our nation." He rushed into a bow and immediately regained his rigid posture.

Cheerfully, Iroh classically responded, " _Retired_ General." He proceeded to look in my direction, taking in my awkward pose and slumped shoulders. Clearly, I was disappointed with this interaction; it was boring, verging on fake courtesy. And I couldn't take all the _nice_ ness. So, obviously, I was scowling, arms crossed as I took in all of the horrible, scripted words.

The worst part of this whole situation? I could tell that I wasn't even on camera! Yo! This was _my_ vacation and I wasn't given a lick of dialogue or screen time. I was starting to get pissed. So, I did the best thing I could possibly think of. I mean, what was the worst that could happen, right?

Groaning, I glared at the three males in front of me. "Okay, ladies, introductions are over. Can we talk about the ripped up ship yet?"

Amused, Iroh chuckled at me. Irate, Zuko and Zhao turned, fists flaming. Even though it had only been a few moments ago, I maybe _kinda_ forgot about my love bunny telling me to keep quiet. The look he gave me was absolutely scary so I clammed up, shoving my hand over my mouth while squeaking, "My bad."

"Why don't you keep your—" Zuko gave me an up-and-down look, evaluating my position in Zhao's rag-tag band of miscreants. "—servant quiet?"

Oh, _hell no_! I stepped forward, aiming to poke the scarred teenager's armored chest like I was actually _somebody_ in the Avatar-verse. But, before I could get my poke in or a word out, Zhao grabbed my shoulder and pulled me back. He kept his hand on my shoulder, clutching it tightly until I was wincing. God, he was freakishly strong.

"Yes," Zhao smirked, twisting his fingers into my kimono. "She _should be_ quiet, shouldn't she." Again, not a question, and I pursed my lips, closing down on them with my teeth. I was determined to keep my stud muffin happy—after all, if I left everything alone with this episode, I was gonna see a shirtless Zhao anyway. "Well," he said, releasing me, "the Fire Lord's brother and son are welcome guests, anytime. What brings you to my harbor?"

Ugh, mainstream dialogue again. Though I was still seething, I remained quiet, thinking about my love bunny's soon-to-be naked chest…all hairless and glowing in the soft sunset. Oh, that was going to be nice.

Iroh gestured behind him, keeping with the script that he was provided. "Our ship is being repaired."

I scoffed, like _that_ was news. Obviously, as the superior officer of the harbor, Zhao would know the comings and the goings of each vessel; not only that, but he was privy to the reasons _why_ said ships were docked. Iroh's response was absolutely dumb.

My stud muffin ignored my tsk and continued his lines. "That's quite a bit of damage."

"No kidding," I mumbled, crossing my arms and pouting. I was staring in the direction of the glass room. Mike was eating a cookie and Bryan had a sandwich lodged between his fingers. I wanted that sammy sooooo bad.

Zhao gave me a quick look and I bit my lip again. If I didn't shut my mouth soon, I was going to be in trouble…he'd probably lock me up again. Or continue to starve me. Either option wasn't all that thrilling.

"Yes," Zuko said, ignoring me, "you wouldn't believe what happened." He hurriedly glanced at Iroh, who looked rather disinterested with the whole conversation. Instead of focusing on his nephew and the officer, he was casually looking at me, a warm smile gracing his face. "Uncle!" Iroh's attention shifted dramatically to the young man beside him. "Tell Commander Zhao what happened."

"Yes, I will do that," Iroh said, fumbling with his fingers. "It was incredible!" He quickly turned to nephew and covered his mouth, whispering.

"Why are you letting this happen?" I queried, murmuring to my beefcake. Seriously, through the entirety of S1, Zhao was intimidating. He usually threw his weight and title around like he owned the place; and now, I was just staring at how unbelievably poised he was. I wanted anger. I wanted _flames,_ but my pookie seemed resigned to watch the spectacle unfold around him. "This isn't right, Boo-Bear. All of this smells like stinky cabbages."

"Yes," Zhao mumbled, leaning against my ear so he could block his response. Gosh, I could feel his breath against my earlobe. "But I need them away from their craft." He paused and I could almost feel him smiling. "And, isn't it fun to watch them squirm?"

That piqued my interest. Huh, I never thought about it that way. Yeah, I had seen this episode a lot, but I usually skipped through most of it and focused solely on the Agni Kai. And now, now that I was actually _in_ the episode—being filmed, no less—I could see the madness behind Zhao's ploy. You see, I'm pretty sure that this whole scene had been preplanned. This was my bunny's way of getting everything he wanted. He needed Zuko and Iroh off their ship so Chuck (probably) could conduct his interrogation. And, like bumbling idiots, the prince and Dragon of the West fell headfirst into Zhao's plan.

"Did we crash or something?" Iroh asked, a little too loudly, I might add.

I tsked. Man, was Iroh even a statistician? How could he not see what was happening? Who designed this episode, anyway?

"Yes!" Zuko awkwardly declared, his voice a little shaky and very loud. "Right into…an Earth Kingdom ship!"

Feigning shock, Zhao's head dipped down just a bit, considering the prince's illogical lie. Beside the ferry in S2 when the Gaang, Zuko, and Iroh were going to Ba Sing Se, no mention of an Earth Kingdom ship existed in the Avatar World. Honestly, it didn't really make any sense. Yeah, let's take a bunch of people who worship rocks and toss them out to sea. That's just dumb.

"Really?" Zhao asked, incredulous. "You must regale me with all the _thrilling_ details." He was mocking Zuko and I stifled another scoff as my beefcake got into Prince Emo's face, leaning down to him like he was a wittle bitty baby. "Join me for a drink?"

Zuko drew back to put some distance between him and Zhao. I straight up giggled at how uncomfortable he looked. "Sorry," he finally muttered, fingers twitching as he started turning, "but we have to go."

I couldn't take it anymore, so I stole Iroh's line.

"Hey!" I screamed at him, finally poking him in the chest. "Why don't you show Commander Zhao your respect? He's been nothing but cordial to you—having his men repair your ship, inviting you inside, willing to give you a bit of hospitality—yet, you just want to sulk away. Where you gonna go, Zuko? Why don't you use your goddamned manners and humor the man?"

I swear, even in the early morning light, I could hear a cricket chirping nearby. It was so awkwardly quiet that my confidence fizzled the moment I finished my question.

Zuko looked livid—like somebody pissed in his Cheerios or told him that he would actually join the Avatar's side in S3. His nostrils were flaring and smoke started pouring from the small holes.

"That can't be healthy," I joked, backing away. Seriously, the only thing I could think about were those black lungs that we were shown in elementary school. You know, the ones where you were taught how unhealthy smoking is? Yep, Zuko was gonna get lung cancer if he kept that up.

Iroh, humored with my brash attempt to teach Zuko a lesson about manners, waved his hand through the air and stepped forward, toward my stud muffin. "We would be honored to join you. Do you have any ginseng tea? It's my favorite."

Together, the uniformed pair started walking away, leaving me and Prince Hothead behind. I quickly turned to the glass room and noticed that Mike, Bryan, and Lauren had disappeared. The scene was over and Zhao's introduction as Zuko's archenemy was done. Though, we never really found out _why_ the pair hated each other.

Fun fact: as a viewer, you probably never knew. But, now that you're reading the inside story—my story, that is—we're about to find out why. Hold onto your britches readers, it's about to get _good._

Zuko turned away from me, flames pouring out of his fingertips in a wide arc. I avoided the fire and ran past him, sticking my tongue out at him as I passed. Man, I really wanted to piss him off.

Apparently, it worked, because the moment we all got comfortable in Zhao's little command tent, Zuko couldn't stop leering at me. My love bunny was going over his plans and I was kneeling on the floor, sitting very ladylike, if I do say so myself. Iroh was off in the corner, admiring a few spears that I knew were about to topple. I made sure that I wasn't anywhere near those sharp tips and I kept all of my attention on Zuko, glaring at the boy prince who thought he was actually somebody.

How did that ugly little zit get on the cover of the DVD set of S1? Zhao's face shoulda been there, not Zuko's.

All of a sudden, Lauren, Mike, and Bryan appeared at the end of the tent, the camera clacking as the scene played out.

"Can nobody seriously see that?" I asked, hissing my words out quietly. Seriously? _Nobody_ could see them?

Zuko gave me a weird look, but quickly continued his scowl. Zhao's voice suddenly got louder, forcing me to realize that maybe the characters didn't have microphones.

"…And by the year's end, the Earth Kingdom capital will be under our rule." He slowly turned around, taking in the three people around him; Iroh admiring the spears, Zuko pouting on the chair, and me, kneeling on the ground. "The Fire Lord will finally claim victory in this war."

Oh, if only he knew the irony. Yeah, the Fire Lord would claim victory, but it wouldn't be the Fire Lord who was reigning now. No, Prince Angst would ascend the throne and declare the war over only when Team Avatar reigned victorious. And then, assassins and a crazy mother-finding adventure that apparently wasn't worth airing on television would be created. And then a half-thought out series would be produced, answering questions and inadvertently giving us _more_ questions. Thanks, Korra. Thanks.

I could hear the camera zoom into Zuko's face. "If my father thinks the rest of the world will follow him willingly, then he is a fool," he grumbled, slouching in his chair a little more.

Zhao hastily sat down on the oddly placed chair—you know, the one facing _away_ from the map and table. What kind of shit-for-brains designed this set, anyway?

"Two years at sea have done little to temper your tongue." His beautiful hazel eyes flicked to me and I _swear_ on my mother's grave that he winked at me. "So, how is your search for the Avatar going?"

On cue, the spears Iroh was fiddling with toppled. The sound of clanging metal filled the canvas shelter and I smiled when the esteemed ex-general turned, his face filled with embarrassment. "My fault," he admitted, "entirely."

"No kidding," I smirked.

Zuko glared at my comment and his fingers wound around his arms, knuckles whitening. "We haven't found him yet."

"Liar," I silently mouthed, fiddling with the folds of my kimono.

Wanting to continue his scheme, Zhao pressed the teen. "Did you really expect to? The Avatar died a hundred years ago…along with the rest of the airbenders." He smirked and I _swear to God_ that he winked at me again. "Unless, you have found some evidence that the Avatar is _alive_."

Zuko turned, his face expressionless. "No." He turned back to glare at me, who was still fidgeting with my kimono. "Nothing."

Shaking his head, Zhao stood from his seat and started walked toward me. He stepped around my kneeling form and then continued to approach the seething, seated teenager. "Prince Zuko," he mocked, "the Avatar is the only one who can stop the Fire Nation from winning this war." He leaned forward, displaying all of the predatory power he had. My lady bits were dripping again. "If you have an _ounce_ of loyalty left, you'll tell me what you found."

This was Zuko's one lone chance to come clean, I realized. Zhao already knew that Aang was back—I had told him as much a few days ago. So, my beefcake was doing his prince a solid. All Zuko had to do was say that the Avatar messed up his sweet ride and we would be able to part ways. Though, I certainly didn't want that to happen. Remember—shirtless Zhao, people. Shirtless Zhao.

Lucky for me, the Fire Nation Prince followed his script.

"I haven't found _anything_ ," he said through gritted teeth. He stood from his chair and passed me to approach the exit. "It's like you said, the Avatar probably died a long time ago." He glanced in his uncle's direction. "Come on, Uncle, we're going."

As written, Chuck walked straight through the tent's opening and approached Zhao, giving me a curt nod as he passed. "Commander Zhao, we interrogated the crew as you instructed. They confirmed Prince Zuko had the Avatar in custody, but let him escape."

I clapped my hands together, delighted. Nobody paid me a lick of attention, though, which was okay with me.

Zhao looked at the dumbstruck prince, his face pulled into a twisted smile. Jeez, I wanted him to eat me out _so hard core_ at that moment. "Now remind me," he sneered, "how, exactly, was your ship damaged?"

All of a sudden, the lights went really dim and everybody stopped moving. Lauren, Mike, and Bryan disappeared, but Zhao, Zuko, and Iroh weren't continuing their activities. Surely, a little bit of dialogue should be going on right now. Technically, Zuko should be telling us all about his encounter with Aang so Zhao can repeat it in front of the camera a little later.

Though, nobody seemed to be doing that. And, when I looked really hard, I honestly couldn't tell that anybody was actually breathing. A lot of interesting thoughts went through my head during this weird intermission. _I_ could still move, which meant that I had a wide variety of things that I could be doing.

I should have done the adult thing and waited for Lauren, Mike, and Bryan to continue the script, but I was a little impatient. All I wanted to do was see Zhao naaaaaked. A little peek wouldn't hurt, right?

So, I crept forward, fully prepared to pants my favorite cartoon character. If I had my phone (Zhao confiscated it with my backpack), I would've taken a quick dickpic—ya know, something to dream about when I returned home. But! The moment I wiggled myself up to him, poised and prepared to do my naughty task, the lights got bright and I rapidly returned to my seat as Lauren, Mike, and Bryan reappeared in their glass room.

The camera started clacking again, and Zhao turned to stare at the side of the room. "So, a twelve-year-old boy bested you and your firebenders." Not a question. "You're more pathetic than I thought."

I was huffing and puffing like a fat kid at recess. I was _so_ close to either pantsing him or getting caught. Dammit, all I wanted was some Zhao dick. Why was life so cruel?

"I underestimated him once, but it will _not_ happen again," Zuko snarled.

"No, it will not. Because you won't have a second chance."

Like he wasn't the goddamn _Prince of the Fire Nation_ —somebody who clearly outranked Zhao _just by being born_ —Zuko got all scared. "Commander Zhao," he all-but begged, "I've been hunting the Avatar for two years and I—"

Zhao turned, a powerful wave of flames pouring out of his hand in a graceful arch. Jeez, I wanted him so, so bad. "And you have _failed_!" He started walking toward me. Could he tell that my insides were melting with his aggression? "Capturing the Avatar is too important to leave in a teenager's hands. He's mine now."

Zuko lunged forward, eager to pounce on my beefcake, but Chuck and another dude pulled him back. I smirked at his struggles until I felt Zhao tap my shoulder, demanding that I stand. I did so and flattened out a crease in my dress.

"Keep them here," Zhao ordered.

Together, we left the tent. I heard Zuko kick over the table and Iroh demand for more tea, and I chuckled as the tent flaps closed.

"So," I hastened my steps, padding softly next to my stud muffin as we trudged back to his ship. "What happened between you and Zuko, anyway?"

He gave me a sideways glance. "What do you mean?"

I pointed behind us with my thumb. "You know! All the tension that happened back there! What _was_ all that, anyway?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

Readers, we _all_ know the human response to that. Instantly, no matter how old we are, we pester our target and query the living daylights out of them until the truth busts open like a pimple. I wanted to know the world's best kept secret, and I didn't even care if I got covered with imaginary pimple juice, either. So, like a normal human, I pestered him until my pestering festered in his brain and he relented.

" _Fine!_ " he screamed, teeth barred at me as I smiled at him, victorious. "He…took something from me."

"Took something? He's a _boy_! And you're an immensely attractive piece of man meat! What could Zuko have possibly _taken_ from you?"

Zhao paused, appreciating my compliments. "He took…" He glanced at me and narrowed his handsome eyes. "Promise me that you won't laugh."

My lips jutted out and I tilted my head, contemplating his demand. "I make no promises."

"Obviously," he said, rolling his eyes.

My mouth fell open. "What is _that_ supposed to mean?"

"You promised that you'd be quiet, yet, your mouth ran every opportunity that it could."

I continued to gape. "There was a lot of things happening. I'm sorry, but I got caught up in the moment! I didn't do anything stupid or nothing! Jeez, it's not like _I'm_ gonna be the one to piss him off and get into an Agni Kai."

Zhao stopped walking and turned to face me, head on. "Excuse me?"

"Oh, you heard me," I chided. There was no way in hell he _didn't_ hear me, either. "You're gonna piss off Prince Emo and then fight him. Good luck with that, by the way. It works out _real well_ for you."

I pressed ahead, each foot stomping down as I walked. Zhao grabbed my arm and twisted me around until I was back where I started. "You've been correct with everything so far, _Space Ranger_ ," he smirked. "I have no doubt that what you're telling me now is true. So," he pulled in closer to me and I could smell his cologne again. All of my anger dissipated instantly. "Why don't you explain what you just said for me?"

My eyes flicked around his handsome face. I just wanted his lips on me, kissing or nuzzling any area of exposed skin. Nervously, I responded, "I-it's like I s-said. You're gonna piss off Zuko and then he's g-gonna demand an Agni Kai…which you'll lose."

"Really?"

"Yeah." I paused and bit my lip. "So, are you gonna tell me why you and Prince Hothead are feuding or not?"

He looked conflicted, eyes narrowed, until he released my arms. "He took the last fruit puff at the last party I attended."

"He ate the last Pop-Tart?" I gasped, my eyes widening. Hell, if somebody did that to me, I'd be out for _blood_. So, here we go, readers, the word I use only once per chapter. "What's wrong with you? Fucking _kill him,_ man!"

* * *

 **Next chapter contains my favorite line so far. Alert so you don't miss out. Also, please review and tell me if you liked this chapter.**


	5. A Cellphone Named Alfred

Sometimes, I like to think that I'm a pretty smart cookie. Yeah, I took Advanced Placement classes in High School and am doing pretty damn good in college so far. Professors say nothing but very sweet remarks about my performance and do nothing other than praise me for my unique intellect.

But I have to tell ya, readers, _I'm the dumbest goddamn person in Avatar-land._

Dumbest…person… _ever_ , actually. Stupider than stupid. More idiotic than those people in Chin Village who wanted to execute Aang solely because of his Avatar relation to Kyoshi. And who _doesn't_ want to forget about that piss-poor filler episode, anyway? Well…that and _The Great Divide_.

Let me repeat that for you if you didn't quite get the memo. **I'm an idiot**.

Why, you ask?

Well, let's talk about the fact that I told Zhao about his Agni Kai with Zuko. _And I gave him the flipping ending!_

Let's back this chapter up just a bit and repeat the stupidest thing ever uttered in Avatar: the Last Airbender…

" _You're gonna piss off Zuko and then he's g-gonna demand an Agni Kai…which you'll lose_."

Oh yeah, I kept the stuttering in there and everything. Because I'm a total loser.

Readers, riddle me this…what is _wrong_ with me?

A lot, I guess. But that's something that a few hours of therapy will have to fix…later.

Okay, let me leave you alone for a minute and read the chapter. Then we can _both_ decide why in the hell I'm wasting my money on continuing my education when I'm obviously ridiculously dumb.

So, last I left you, Zhao told me that he didn't like Zuko because he ate the last Pop-Tart at the last party he attended. And then I told him to kill the bitch. Bitches get stitches, ya know?

Well, let me tell you, readers, if you wanna see my love bunny smile, tell him to kill his prince! I know, right? It doesn't make a lick of sense, but the man flipping _smirked_ at me. Smirked at me so hard core that I was pretty sure I woulda hiked up my kimono, dropped my pantaloons, and demanded he take me right there on the muddy ground with all those weird, brainless, and _voice_ less soldiers staring, too.

"I can't _kill him_ ," Zhao mumbled, dragging me behind him until we hit the gangplank of his hoity-toity ship. "But I _can_ distract him."

"How'ya gonna do that, Pooky?"

"I need to think," he growled, pulling me up the incline. "And I'm going to need you to finally shut up, too."

I made a cute little motion of zipping my lips, but I don't think he understood the reference and resigned to nodding my head, mouth clamped tightly closed. And then I gave him a double thumbs up and he rolled his eyes at me and gestured for me to follow him. Of course I did, like a lost little puppy dog, and it wasn't long until we found ourselves in the man's office.

He sat down in his chair and started scrawling out kanji like you wouldn't believe. Between scribbles, he was reading Chuck's hastily drafted report about Zuko's tattletale crew. And I was left to my own devices…in silence. And I can tell you right off the bat that I'm not usually a quiet person; no, no, readers. I'm very, _very_ vocal. So let's just get this out there…I _always_ lost the silent game whenever Mom and Dad wanted to play. _Always_. And my mouth has gotten me in more binds than I care to admit. But right now, it was about to save my freaking life. And my mind.

Imagine the scene, guys. It's super quiet, Zhao's scribbling away at his desk, and I'm just chilling in one of the seats opposite him, mindlessly staring at the maps and wondering why in the hell I took Spanish instead of Mandarin…or Japanese…or whatever Asian language ATLA utilizes. Everything is silent, and then you hear in an off-key whisper…

" _Hey, I just met you…and this is crazy,_

 _But here's my number, so call me, maybe?_

 _And, all the other boys…try to chase me,_

 _But here's my number, so call me, maybe?"_

I've never been glared at so hard in my _life_.

"Don't even," I snapped, trying my damnedest to match his glare. In cartoon-land, Zhao had me beat, hands down. "You expect me to sit here and do _nothing_ for however long you're going to leave Prince Emo and Uncle Santa Clause alone? Nuh-uh, man. I'm not good with that."

He pinched the bridge of his nose and rubbed his fingers against his eyes, a little annoyed and doing a damn good job of keeping his cool. "Well, then what do you want?"

"My backpack."

His tongue popped out a little bit to swipe over his dried bottom lip. God, I just wanted to clear the table and smack my lips against his. You need moisture, baby? Let me take care of that for you. I got all the saliva you'll _ever_ need.

"I haven't finished searching it, yet."

"Whaddya need to search it for?"

Zhao shrugged. "Contraband."

It was my turn to pinch the bridge of my nose, irritated. "The only thing I got hidden in there is about four tampons in the middle-most pouch. Everything else is kinda out in the open. Happy?"

"Tampons?"

Nope. Nope. Nope. Readers, I did _not_ want to have that discussion. I had no idea how ladies handle things in Avatar-land (still don't, actually), but we _all_ know how they're handled in the real world. And as much as I'd like to weird out my stud muffin by giving him an overview of the female sex talk, I just didn't have it in me.

"It's a _lady_ thing. Girls only, m'kay?"

He grumbled at my response. And I don't know if that was his way of understanding what a menstrual cycle was or if he was too macho of a dude to really care, but he pointed to a cabinet behind me.

"There," he grunted, returning to his work.

I bounced off my chair and landed in front of that damn cabinet so quick that I didn't realize I had been gifted with all of the speed of the Flash. And then I cackled like the Joker as I rifled through my trusty knapsack, pressing the baby blue fabric against my cheek while mindlessly hissing, " _My precious_."

Like a classic twenty-year-old, my cellphone was in my hands quick as a wink. Miraculously, it had survived my little ocean spree (I _know,_ right? They don't usually stay alive after a quick, accidental splash in the toilet, yet here it was…good as…well, as good as a _seriously_ old iPhone could be). It turned on like a dream; the proud, once-bitten apple glowing a faint grey against a glorious, blindingly white background.

It blinked at me after my Disney-themed background loaded. And I groaned. Half-charged…

 _Great._

You see, readers, I didn't touch my handy-dandy cellphone while I was locked away in prison. Though, I _did_ keep it on…as a just in case sorta thing. But, after a great deal of debate, I eventually turned it off to conserve battery life. And even though I planned on saving the little guy for emergencies, _then_ seemed as good as an emergency as any. Boredom does that to you, I guess. So I frantically pressed the Home button of my iPhone, hoping that my cartoon fingerprint would unlock the bitch. Because—unfortunately for me—I can't remember the number code anymore. And who _can_ , Apple? Who can?

Well, good thing for me, my cellphone came right on and I fist-pumped the air, successful. Zhao watched me with a confused silence for a moment before returning to his work, no doubt plotting the glorious demise of Prince Idiot and Uncle Fatty. And ya know what? Now that I think about it, he should've been asking me more questions about the Agni Kai. Like strategies for _destroying_ that maggot. But he wasn't.

And at the time, I was too damn distracted to care. Curse you, _Word Crossy_! Curse you and your addictive wordy goodness.

I played that game for a long time. Wellllll…It might've only been a few minutes, but it felt like _hours_. Honestly, you don't realize how much technology means to you until it's _ripped_ from your fingers. And I didn't notice the time until Zhao cleared his throat. Loudly, I might add.

To be fair, I'm pretty sure that it was his third or fourth attempt trying to get my attention.

Can't help it, though. Cellphones are incredibly awesome. And in Avatar-land, where everything is kind of hum drum unless there's an epic battle sequence going on, cellphones are a friggin' _drug._

And apparently, my love bunny noticed.

"What is _wrong_ with you?" Zhao snapped, thoroughly irritated. He lurched forward and stole my phone. The dick! And then he looked at it like it was…well, I can't exactly explain what he might have thought it was. Definitely nothing he'd ever seen before, though. I can guarantee you that. The Fire Nation may have been ahead of their time compared to the rest of the Avatar-verse, but they weren't as technologically advanced as our world. Not _nearly._

"H-hey!" I scrambled for my electronic baby, but Zhao managed to hold me back with one meaty hand as he stared at the glowing screen. "Let Alfred go!"

Fun fact, readers: like most of the possessions in my life, my cellphone has a nickname. It's Alfred. You know, like the butler from Batman. I even changed Siri's voice from a lady to a man. Did you know you could do that? I bet not. But you do _now._

Why Alfred? Because it's badass, 'nugh said. And because I _maybe_ have a _slight_ obsession with Batman: the Animated Series. And Batman in general, honestly. Though, who doesn't?

My 2001 Ford Escort's nickname is GG; Grey Ghost, technically—keeping with the Batman: the Animated Series theme, of course. My favorite mechanical pencil is Dick. Eraser…Jason. And my laptop is named Steve, though I haven't the slightest idea _why_.

Off topic! Storytime, kids…storytime.

Zhao pressed his finger against the screen, somehow scrolled his way through my pages, and then "accidentally" engaged the iTunes Store App. A myriad of advertisements and music suggestions popped onto the screen. Though he probably couldn't read a single goddamned word, he continued gazing at my cellphone. Glaring at it, more like. "What's an Alfred?" Without waiting for an answer, he pressed the screen. Hard, too. Hard enough to actually tell my phone to start playing a song.

I shit you not, he magically selected Nicki Minaj's "Anaconda."

The fake sounds of whips, a school-bell ringing, and a horrendous trumpet filled the air. Blaring throughout the small office, more like. And, because iTunes is the awesome app that it is, it gives you the best part of the song as a sample. So, not only were the raucous instruments playing, but the lyrics were blasting, too. The most obnoxious ones, of course.

" _My anaconda don't—_

 _My anaconda don't—_

 _My anaconda don't want none,_

 _Unless you got_ _ **buns**_ _, hun!"_

" _Oh my gosh, look at her butt,_

 _Oh my gosh, look at her butt,_

 _Oh my gosh, look at her butt (Look at her butt),_

 _Look at, look at, look at, look…at her butt—"_

After a great deal of fidgety anguish and a loud, enraged growl, Zhao figured out what the magical triangle can do. Pause that shit, that's right. You got this, babe. You _got 'dis!_

And when the room descended into silence once more, my monkey man looked at me. Stared at me…glared at me, maybe? And when the angry moment passed, his face fell into a look of…well, a look of something…off. But lemme tell you guys something: his expression was priceless. _Priceless._

He blinked. Once. Twice. And then opened his mouth. "What…what was that?"

Oh my goodness! Nicki Minaj made him _stutter!_ She tends to do that to people, I guess. But I usually thought it was when others met her or watched her music videos. Or just plain watched her booty jiggle with all its butt-wiggling weirdness. What's that called again? That insane skill she has?

Twerking. That's it.

I wonder what Zhao would do if he actually watched the _video_ and not just listened to a small snippet of the song. Well, I found out later, but you're going to have to keep reading to find _that_ out.

So, after stifling an arrogant chuckle, I shrugged. "The music video's better than _just_ the song." See, readers? I was already setting myself up for something _amazing._ Pro tip: do that. It'll be funny, later.

" _Music_ vid—" He paused and reformatted his thoughts. "Is that an Alfred? A torture device? Is that what you Space Rangers use to gather intelligence?"

"Pssh, nah. We listen to that stuff for _fun_."

He deadpanned. "Fun? That was… _fun_ for you?"

It was my turn to blink. Once. And then twice. I closed my eyes and haughtily shook my head. Squared my shoulders like the badass I was pretending to be. If I had a collar, I probably would've popped it just for shits and gigs. "Admittedly, some people have different tastes."

He carefully put my phone on his desk and used the tip of his finger to push it toward me. Like it would bite him or unleash another vile song if he misused it. And I snatched Alfred up and double tapped my Home button. I cleared out my history and paused when I saw the flashing battery bar. Zhao's little jaunt on the internet somehow cost me ten-percent of my battery life. Forty-percent remaining.

Hey, hey, _wait!_

Internet!

Did you know that you get 4G in Avatar-land? Well, you do, now. But stock up on batteries or invest in a solar charger, because not _everybody_ will get as lucky as I did. More on that in the next chapter, though.

"We," he pinched the bridge of his nose again and let out a deep, tormented sigh. "We need to go. This has gotten me nowhere and I've kept them penned up longer than I intended."

He immediately got up and strolled out of the room, expecting me to follow him without delay. And I _would've_ followed him toot sweet, but I was facing a dilemma. You see, usually, I would've shoved Alfred in my right butt-pocket, but I was in a kimono and I didn't have a butt-pocket. So I had to think, think, think like Winnie the flipping Pooh. And when an imaginary lightbulb flashed over my noggin, I decided to hooker it up and slipped Alfred into my bra for keepsies safesies. And then I trudged on outta there, a lost puppy once more.

* * *

Zuko's arms were crossed. Pouting with an angry scowl plastered on his cartoonishly pimple-free yet horribly maimed face. A face that unsurprisingly _wasn't_ catching my fancy, to the horror of the rest of the fandom, I'm sure. Zhao's, however…shit, I could stare at that beautiful mug _all day_.

"My search party is ready," my stud muffin said with a confident smirk. "Once I'm out to sea, my guards will escort you back to your ship, and you'll be free to go."

I sighed and rolled my eyes. We were back to the scripted dialogue again. Fun, fun.

At the far end of the tent, the camera was clacking. The glass box was filled with people eating _normal-_ looking food and I was wiggling my fingers, itching to play with Alfred. But I couldn't because Zuko and Iroh were around.

I was certain that if one of them saw my phone, they'd flip shit. And I was _also_ nine-hundred-percent positive that if I pulled Alfred out, Zhao would confiscate him again. And I wasn't having that. So lil' Alfie stayed hidden betwixt my boobies, getting all sweaty and gross. Space Ranger Mary, you are a _genius._

Don't get ahead of yourself, me. That little comment is debatable. Ergo, the opener of this chapter.

The tingle was still there, distracting me. Technology kinda does that to you, I guess. Damn you, _Word Crossy_. And damn you Zhao for wasting my precious and limited battery life on "Anaconda."

Speaking of that song, it was in my head…on loop. So, naturally, I started softly humming the tune under my breath. Iroh ' _hmmph_ 'ed at me comically and I twitched before I refocused, trying my hardest to pay attention.

The scripted dialogue continued…

 _Very_ prince-like, Zuko scoffed. "Why? Are you worried I'm going to try and stop you?"

Zhao laughed and I let the vibrations of his charmingly warm titter fill my ears. Gosh, it was beautiful. _Mmmm._ Sexy, sleazy, _intoxicating._ All of those things, but sadly, off limits. So, _so_ sad.

 _A little while longer, Mary_ , I tried to tell myself. _Just a little while longer and you'll see all those rippling muscles._

Shirtless Zhao. I could squeal. Honestly, I could. Pretty sure I did, too. _Out loud._ But thankfully, everybody ignored me.

"You? Stop me? Impossible."

Readers, I have to tell ya, those four words…coming from _his_ lips… _gosh_ , they were hauntingly threatening. The most perfect words dictated in the most perfect tone. Gorgeous. Like the man who uttered them.

Zuko angrily stood and rushed past me, shoving me aside until I practically face-planted into the carpeted ground. The nerve! That prick. If only he knew what _I_ knew. He'd be throwing up in the bushes out back before we finished talking about S1's finale.

"Don't underestimate me, Zhao." Zuko's wimpy index finger poked out. Thin and straggly, kind of like how I imagined his dick looking. "I _will_ capture the Avatar before you."

I snorted. "Fat chance." I have evidence, readers. So don't get your panties in a bunch.

 _Technically,_ Zhao got the closest when it came to capturing Aang. The kid was immobilized and in an expansive room at the Pohuai Stronghold, not going _anywhere_. Well, not until our good 'ole buddy Prince Traitor donned a creepy ass blue mask and broke the kid out.

Did I mention that I'm not a big Zuko fan? Must've left that out somewhere…

 _All_ eyes focused on me and I slumped down. Did you know that you can only slouch so far until you look like a pancake? Or a limp noodle? Yeah, I looked _real_ awesome.

Iroh decided that _now_ was the time to break up the tension and he stood. His voice was stern. Adult, fatherly, and a little protectively annoying, actually. "Prince Zuko, that's enough."

Humorously, Zuko was the only one getting parented, so Zhao continued. With a smirk on his face, no less. "You can't compete with me. I have hundreds of war ships under my command. And you?" I _swear_ Zuko flinched when Zhao gestured outward. Like he thought the guy would hit him or something. Not that I blame him, really. Ozai _did_ kinda burn half his face off. Publically, I might add. "You're just a banished prince. No home, no allies." Another wince. "Your own father doesn't even want you."

Something literally _snapped_ in that teenager's face. And I kinda, _maybe_ felt a little bad since I knew how this was about to go. But I didn't do anything other than watch. I mean, what _could_ I do?

"You're _wrong!"_ He started breathing heavily, uncontrollably. Unnerved and irritated. "Once I deliver the Avatar to my father, he will welcome me home with honor and restore my rightful place on the throne."

Zhao looked like somebody threw him a surprise birthday party. Or like somebody gave him a wide opening for a debilitating insult.

Bingo! Option two.

"If your father really wanted you home, he would have let you return by now. Avatar or no Avatar. But in his eyes, you are a failure and a disgrace to the Fire Nation."

"That's not true."

"You have the scar to prove it."

A pin could've dropped on that carpeted floor and we _all_ woulda heard it.

And then suddenly, Zuko hurled himself toward my love bunny. Iroh barely managed to hold the teen back.

"Maybe you'd like one to match!"

"Is that a challenge?"

Zuko clenched his fists and nodded. "An Agni Kai. At sunset."

Well, here we go, readers. Shirtless Zhao, epic fight scene, and glistening muscles. I was _ready_. All my stud muffin needed to do was agree and we would cut-scene on out of the dreary tent and find ourselves in an arena. A gong would resound and my panties would moisten as I watched the battle unfold. And hopefully, Zhao wouldn't lose this time. Hopefully, he'd settle his chiseled ass down, win, and smear Zuko's face into the dirt.

But…none of that happened.

"No," Zhao said with a frown.

"W-w-what?" I looked at him, my mouth agape. I couldn't believe _—refused_ to believe—what I had just heard. _No?_ That wasn't my monkey man's voice. Nope. Nope. _Couldn't_ have been. Right?

"No," Zhao repeated. He looked at Zuko, whose expression was similar to mine. Though, the prince definitely looked a lot more confused than me—and was that relief? "I decline. Why would I debase myself by battling a child?" A half-lipped smirk filled his beautiful face while Zuko's expression hardened into a glare. "Even though the child _deserves_ to learn proper manners, I would _never_ stoop so low. Unlike others, I have more couth."

It kind of sounded like he was dissing the Fire Lord there, but I pinched my lips shut with my teeth, forcing myself into determined silence. The sharp edges of my canines practically dug into the soft flesh, and I knew that I needed a distraction. So I looked over to Iroh, wondering how the great Dragon of the West would take that very un-Zhao-like refusal.

The sly ex-general's eyes flitted between me, Zuko, and Zhao. I'm pretty sure a little piece of him was wondering what, exactly, was going on. I mean, we all knew the kind of person Zhao was. Ruthless and selfish. Somebody who focused solely on power. _Not_ whatever this was. Cautious? Analytical? Was that what this was?

Granted, Zhao's words were still condescending, but his outright refusal to the duel… _damn_! So unlike him. Almost out of character, but that would be impossible! _He_ was the one talking. _He_ was the one running the ship. Literally! And at the end of the day, I'm just writing this shit down for Flannel-Hobo-Wizard's benefit. He gets credit from my story, remember? My words ain't got nothing do with Zhao's conscious decisions. So don't come crying to me about how OOC this all sounds.

Still, though. This was all hard to believe. Difficult to understand, really.

What was going on in my favorite Fire Nation officer's mind? What was my honey bear doing?

But then Iroh said what we were all thinking. Though, he had the cajones ( _dammit,_ I know more Spanish than I thought) to back himself up if he needed. "How…unlike you."

Zhao shrugged. "I'm trying a new thing," he said. "New year, new me." His hazels flicked over to me and the left side of his lips twitched slightly. Handsome and kind of scary, if I do say so, myself.

Iroh couldn't say anything other than, "Indeed," as he stroked his beard. Ridiculously skeptical and I couldn't blame him.

"In light of your _grave_ proposition," Zhao said to the still-shocked prince, his tone still considerably dark, "I have a proposal. A…truce of sorts."

"Don't care," Zuko spat, suddenly enraged again.

"Shame, shame, Prince Zuko. This agreement would only help you. All you need to do is _listen_."

Though I _wanted_ to pay attention—and who _wouldn't_ since things were just starting to get good _—_ there was a weird commotion in the glass box. Lauren, Michael, and Bryan were doing a medley of interesting things. Some more comical than others.

Bryan was staring at the spectacle unfolding about him, thoroughly dumbfounded. Though, the left corner of his lips was inching upward, a small trace of an amused smile. Maybe he wasn't too pissed about the strange turn of events. Was that a spurt of malevolent joy? Sweet.

Well, Bryan might have been cryptically chill, but Michael and Lauren were _flipping shit._ Michael was purging the script, an annoyed sneer on his face; papers were flying all around the buffet tables and the floor was quickly coated in a strange menagerie of drawings, notes, and scripted dialogue. Lauren's reaction was similar, though she was a little more ladylike about it.

"What the _fuck_ did he just say?" she screamed. "That's _not_ what he's supposed to say!" She turned to Michael, who was finally ripping through the last few pages of the episode's script. No luck. "Right? _Tell me_ that I'm right."

I could hear her snarls through the glass. And she rapped on the barrier, glaring _daggers_ at me.

"You! _You_ ," she snapped. I couldn't help but stare at her. And I stupidly pointed at myself, curious to see if she was addressing me with that horrid tone. "Yes, _you_." She rolled her eyes and tossed a wad of blonde hair back over her head. "What did you _do_?"

I made that weird sort of sound that you hear confused, funny people make. It was a glorious shorthanded version of 'I don't know,' but didn't really sound like it. "I-uh-nuh."

All animated eyes locked onto me. Iroh's expression was a tad bit concerned; considering he was the only member of our little group who could see spirits and there _weren't_ any present, his stare caught me off guard. And I could tell that even _he_ was more than just a little confused. Is there something beyond confusion? Chaos? Bewilderment? Is that it?

I-uh-nuh.

Zuko looked at me like I belonged in the loony bin. And Zhao? My love bunny? The man I pined for ever since I was aggressively torn asunder, put back together, and dropped into the ocean? Yeah, he was looking at me like I had four heads, purple hair, blue skin, and an electric guitar for a neck. Like the weird kid that used to be your friend in school, but then they said something really whacky and you kinda…turned away…for like, ever. Yeah, like that.

Lauren was still yelling. " _None_ of this is how I planned it. And _you're_ the only oddity. So _you_ must have caused this. What did you do? _What did you_ _ **do**_ _?_ "

Well, flat-out arguing with that lady woulda made me look hella crazier than Iroh, Zuko, and Zhao already thought I was, so I tried to ignore her. I looked at Zhao, instead. With a coy smile plastered on my nervous ass face. It didn't really reassure him of _anything,_ though.

Thankfully, I didn't have to explain myself because Zuko rolled his eyes and sighed. "I'm listening," he eventually grumbled out, arms crossed.

Lauren screamed one of the most frustrated, ear-piercing screams that I have ever heard, threw her hands in the air, gargled out a few more profanities that I'm not going to type out— _especially_ since she already used _that_ word… _my_ word. And then with a _crack,_ her, Michael, and Bryan freaking disappeared.

Poof.

Gone.

For a long, long time, too.

Eyes wide, I looked at Zhao, who was smirking at Prince Traitor. Once again, it looked like he was given a wide opening, kinda like he knew something that the teenager didn't. Lucky for him, he kinda did. He knew the result of the Agni Kai, of course. But there was something else in his hazels that suggested he knew something…else.

Something that would _completely_ change the Avatar-verse.

And I had yet to know if it was for the better…or worse.

"I would like to offer my assistance in the Avatar's capture," Zhao finally said with a freakishly calm air.

Worse. Definitely worse.

Iroh's mouth fell open and Zuko said what we were all thinking. "What?"

Zhao inhaled and the torches in the corners of the tent flickered slightly with his influence. He flashed a debonair smile that made my heart flutter, and then he adopted his best salesman voice. "Prince Zuko, the task that you've been given is far too difficult for you to undertake with your meager resources. If the airbender is as elusive and cunning as your crew believes, you're going to need the assistance of somebody with the assets you require—somebody like…me."

Iroh narrowed his eyes, dubious. "Your offer is generous, but—"

"Hundreds of warships, thousands of men," Zhao continued, interrupting the ex-officer. " _Anything_ you need could be given to you in an instant. All you need to do is say yes."

Zuko actually popped a squat and took a moment to mull things over. Zhao allowed him to think, but he towered over the kid a bit, pressuring him with his looming shadow.

"What's the catch?" Zuko finally asked.

"The…catch?"

"Usually, with things like these—with offers as grand as the one you're proposing—there's a catch. A…but, involved."

"A but?"

Zuko shifted in his seat. And I kinda felt a little bad for him. Azula and Ozai must have tormented him like you wouldn't believe for him to come up with the stuff he was spewing.

"A but," Zuko confirmed. "Like, I'm going to you give you the world, but…"

"Ah, yes," Zhao smiled. "There are conditions, of course. As any proper agreement would."

"What are they?"

My honey bunny looked a tad bit impressed. Obviously, he thought that Zuko would agree without thinking things through. I was a little impressed with the teen myself, so I listened carefully.

"All of your requests will be reported directly to me, in person."

If it was even possible, Iroh's eyes narrowed until they were the tiniest of slits. "You're coming along," he grumbled.

The smile of Zhao's face was enormous. "Of course."

"Tch." The prince's distaste was evident. Extremely so.

Zhao frowned and sat down on the chair beside the scarred teen, still gunning for it. "You have no allies, nobody to help you regain your honor. And I'm assuming," he glanced at me for confirmation, "that you _won't_ be getting those things in the near future, either."

Zuko looked at Zhao, saw he was looking at me, and then flicked his golden gaze my way. I sighed and shrugged.

"Nobody offers, b—" I said, before Zhao interrupted me.

"Yet here I am, offering you…the 'world,' as you called it."

I was going to say, 'nobody offers, but Zuko doesn't exactly _ask,_ either,' but I guess that wasn't important. Zhao was getting what he wanted and that was all that mattered.

"I need some time to…think," Zuko whispered, still staring at me. His expression was an odd mixture of confusion, elation, and skepticism. And I couldn't blame him for the odd look on his ugly mug.

Zhao's tongue clicked in the classic _tut, tut, tut_ sound that disappointed parents make. "Oh," he grinned, "this offer expires the moment I leave this tent." He looked at one of the Mechanic's odd, lined candles and nodded. "And I have an appointment in…five minutes, so…" He stood and brushed imaginary grime off his armor. Then, he started walking toward the tent flap.

Slowly. Slowly enough to give the prince a final moment or two to consider the grand opportunity my stud muffin was proposing.

"You'll want partial credit for his capture, I assume?"

Zhao paused, turned, and shook his head. "I wouldn't _dream_ of taking your honor away from you. All credit will be given to you." He turned back around and continued walking toward the exit. His fingertips grazed the canvas flap and he pulled it back.

"Yes." Zuko's voice was barely audible, but it was there.

Zhao released the flap, turned back around, and smiled. "Excellent."

He extended his hand, they shook, and the deal was made, terms agreed to without debate. And then Zhao and I walked out of the tent like the smug ass pricks we were, victorious. Zhao had the world by the balls, and _I_ was the one who helped him get what he wanted.

But it cost me. Cost me a lot.

Cost me the live view of a shirtless Zhao, unfortunately. And I wanted to know if it was worth it.

"What game are you playing, Puddin'?"

I was genuinely curious. Whatever just happened wasn't how the episode was supposed to end, and I wondered what sort of butterfly effect it could have on the Avatar-verse. My only hope was that it wasn't _too_ negative.

We continued to walk toward Zhao's ship in silence. And once we hit the entrance to the conning tower, he opened up like a beautiful flower. Honestly, I think he just wanted to gloat. And I was his eager audience.

"Think about this, Mary," he said, a super pleased look on his handsome face. Gosh, when he was this happy, all I wanted to do was kiss him. Especially since he used my name. "Think about how desperate that child is to return home, to regain his honor, his title, and his birthright."

That wasn't news to me. I knew Zuko's backstory. We _all_ knew Zuko's backstory. "Yeah, and?"

"And here I am, offering him assistance when nobody else will."

"Yeah, and?"

"Zuko _won't_ capture the Avatar unless he has help. And once he gets that help—once he _finally_ returns home—guess who he'll have to thank?"

"You…" One eyebrow raised, I looked at him. "But you said that you didn't want to steal his thunder."

"And I won't. But _he'll_ know who was there for him. He _is_ the rightful heir. And when he's Fire Lord, I'm sure that he'll repay his debts. Handedly."

We started walking downstairs. I guess I was being returned to my prison home. The thought kind of disappointed me, but at least Alfred was still lodged in my bra. I guess he would serve as my company for the night. "You always seemed more like an Azula fan to me."

"Oh, I most assuredly am, but the princess has everything that she needs. She doesn't require assistance. And she isn't desperate enough to accept help from an officer like myself. But Zuko…he's all too willing. All too eager to return home, no matter the cost."

"You think he's gonna give you a promotion or something when he gets home, huh?"

He winked at me. "Smart girl."

I gaped at him. "You know, you're hella smarter than they made you out to be."

He didn't question who 'they' were, just kept walking. Until we finally reached the door to the brig. We both walked in—I was sulking a little bit—and he opened the cell door for me. Without arguing, I walked in and sat down on the steel cot that served as my nipple-crippling cold bed.

His hand reached through the bars and he made a _gimme_ motion. I kinda stared at him until he huffed and opened his mouth. "Alfred."

"What? No! He's mine!"

"Give it to me."

"Oh-ho-ho, babe." My mind was in the gutter. I couldn't help it, so don't blame me. "Keep talking like that and I _will_."

"Now."

I could have argued until my lips turned blue. But I knew I wouldn't've won so I handed my cellphone over to him.

"Teach me how to turn it on."

"I'll teach you how to turn _me_ on," I mumbled under my breath. Though I was pissed, I reached through the bars and pressed my thumb against the Home button. "It only works with my thumbprint. What do you want Alfred for, anyway?"

"You mentioned something about a…music video. And I want to see what you're talking about."

"Well," I sighed as I rubbed the back of my head. I swiped and tapped a few things on my phone and got him to Youtube. Nicki Minaj's "Anaconda" video popped up and he pulled Alfred away from me, pleased when he recognized the familiar letters. "There. If the screen goes dark, though, you'll need my thumbprint to wake it up again."

"I think I can manage."

"Yeah, okay." I rolled my eyes. "Don't get too excited. Every music video is pretty much a porno nowadays."

He started to walk away.

"Hey! Hey! Don't waste my battery, okay? I don't have my charger and you guys haven't really harnessed electricity, so—"

 _Slam!_

Gone. The dick.

Well guys, there you have it. I'm an idiot. No shirtless Zhao. No phone. And I was about to spend my coveted vacation alongside a spindly little twig like Zuko. Not exactly how I thought my day would end.

I'm an idiot. A dumb-dumb who is wasting some serious cash on a college education.

And to make matters worse, when Zhao pulled me out of prison the next day, he handed Alfred back to me…dead.

And sticky.

Nicki Minaj was a little too pornographic for him, apparently.

* * *

 **I wanted a good amount of Iroh/Mary action, but the chapter got pretty lengthy. So, the next chapter will include my favorite line.**

 **If you enjoyed everything so far, let me know!**


	6. Hangry and Picking Fights with Princes

**Angry**

Adjective

Definition: Feeling or showing anger or strong resentment; expressing, caused by, or characterized by anger; wrathful

Related Words: enraged, resentful, offended, irritable, impassioned, irate, uptight, sullen, heated, furious, irritated, bitter, annoyed, indignant, exasperated, choleric, cross, displeased, ferocious, fierce

Or there's always my personal favorite: pissed.

Why did I start this chapter off the same way I started off all my papers in third grade? Well, readers, let's talk about the fact that my living situation was a prison cell. As in _brig_. As in gross, dirty, oh-my-god-is-that-a-rat, and why-doesn't-this-place-have- _curtains_ , and this-is-where-they-put- _bad-_ people-and-I'm-pretty-sure-I'm-not-bad-but-maybe-I-kinda-am _dungeon._

Why does that make me not so happy inside? Especially when it hadn't bothered me before?

Because Prince Tra-le-le-day Happy-Pants and Uncle "More-Tea-Please" got their _own goddamn rooms._ Without even _doing_ anything! Without whispering into my love bunny's ear, offering him well-wishes or guidance for the future. Without even lifting a finger to move their own goddamned things into Zhao's ship. Without so much as looking at Zhao hungrily (not that my mutton-chopped lover-to-be would _want_ a lust-filled Iroh glancing his way).

So yeah. Pissed.

That's a good word for how I felt.

But while I was sulking—arms crossed and fuming as I watched Zuko's faceless and voiceless crew load piles of cargo onto Zhao's battleship—my stud muffin was jibber-jabbering with Iroh. Lord only knows what they were talking about; ponies, new silks from Ba Sing Se, ceramic dolls often showcased in horror movies, the weather, underwear styles, military strategies, or makeup secrets. Lord only knows because I was too busy pouting, tapping my fingers against my bicep as I glared.

And that's when the Prince of the Fire Nation decided to side-step his way in my general direction, pushing me aside so he could get to his uncle with a classic muttered insult.

"Move aside, peasant."

As I staggered left against the blow and whirled faster than I dared believed I could, he continued onward, toward his fuddy-duddy uncle, making a curious face as he approached.

What was that look? Longing? Was that it? Eh. Who cares. I was still raging.

"Ah," Iroh smiled, gesturing backward and pulling his nephew into the conversation—of which I was being kept out of, apparently. "Prince Zuko. How nice of you to join us on this delightful morning."

Zuko mumbled some sort of incoherent, dimwitted remark and broke through the heavily-armored and easily go-aroundable Iroh-Zhao barrier. He continued to the side of the boat, leaning over the railing, claiming the damn thing like _he_ was the one in charge, commanding Zhao around. Like _he_ was the one who brokered the deal. Like _he_ wasn't _theoretically_ being kept prisoner.

Technicalities, Zhao had said earlier that morning, when he gave me back a sticky Alfred (let's not talk about that, okay?). Technicalities. I knew what it meant, though. Pretty sure we all do, so let's be real. Though I was the one in a cell, Zuko was the one strictly confined by Zhao's orders. And he knew it, too. But he didn't have to act like a—

"Prick," I muttered, turning away from the prince's hoity-toity direction. Zhao was a much better view, anyway. So I stared, transfixed and enamored. Totally fangirling.

Until Iroh pushed himself into my awed gaze. I blinked, taking in the new scene. Old. Grey. A compassionate twinkle in his eye that left no room for aspirations outside tea fetishes and strategic games. Cloistered but all-knowing. Wise. _Definitely_ not my love bunny's magnificent face. I tried to look beyond, but the old dude was stubborn.

"My nephew is not a morning person. Please forgive him."

Though I certainly didn't—and never would—forgive the little prat, it was ridiculously hard to stay angry at that almost trembly-lipped face. That horribly old, grey, compassionate, tea-loving, advice-giving face. No. No. That was the face of a man filled with traitorous thoughts—thoughts of the White Lotus Society. Thoughts that involved overthrowing the Fire Lord—the self-proclaimed Phoenix King—after allowing a giant blue spirit fish a tasty morsel: my stud muffin.

That was the face of a monster. A sparkly-eyed, I-really-wanna-like-him-but-I-really-shouldn't monster.

Dammit.

"In time, perhaps," Zhao offered, ever the peace-keeper. Which should have triggered a few alarms. But it didn't.

"He doesn't have a lot of friends," Iroh pressed, whispering directly to me. "Maybe you could…"

Nope. Not in this story, readers! If you want a I-wanna-be-besties-with-Zuko story, you've got the wrong storyteller.

I walked back into the conning tower of the warship. Down the stairs and to my cell, where I contemplated what color curtains to hang.

Blue. Definitely blue. Just for spite.

* * *

After a thorough cleaning, Alfred lost his kinda gross tacky qualities. He was still dead, but at least he was safe to cradle like a loved newborn, press up against my ear and pretend to talk to my _actual_ bestie, Ashley. Who probably missed me. But who hadn't called. Or texted. Or emailed. Well, maybe she had, but I couldn't tell because Zhao had drained my battery by _spending the entire night watching pornographic music videos._

If only you could have heard me sigh. It was one of those breathy things, whimsically sad but awkwardly stale. Like something from a boy-meets-girl, boy-falls-in-love-with-girl, or vice versa movie. Or, if you're like me, it was a sigh that embodied that feeling you get after watching a really good action movie. My favorite is _Kick-Ass_ or _Kick-Ass 2_ —I'm not picky _._ They offer the best sigh-filled moments—thank you Chloe Grace Moretz for making my life worth living with the "sick-stick" scene. Everybody should have the power to forcibly incapacitate their bullies with immediate vomiting and diarrhea. Priceless. And totally worth watching, if you haven't already.

While I was rocking my cellphone and sighing like a widowed hag, somebody was ambling down the stairs, silent as silent could be. Sneaky. And it wasn't Prince Hot Lips Houlihan (that reference might be a bit dated—it's from a television show called _M*A*S*H—_ but _come on_ , we all know how many gals that guy has been shipped with). He was an invisible shadow. And I suspect that he watched me for a while before clearing his throat.

"Are you a prisoner? Or a guest?"

"Sweet baby Jesus, Iroh. Get a bell," I snapped, none too ladylike.

I hid Alfred under my kimonoed thigh while the famed Dragon of the West chuckled like a senile old man.

"My nephew has said similar remarks."

"I'm sure." I gave him a wry smile, something that screamed _go away_. But he didn't. No, he _pulled up a stool and sat down._ Perched, more like. In front of me, too. All jovial and uppity. Strangely intimidating.

"Prisoner…or guest?"

I chewed my bottom lip. "Guest. I think."

He hesitated but continued, nonetheless. "Ah. Well that's good to hear. But your accommodations…" He gestured to the bars.

Blue eyes rolling, I mumbled, " _To better protect me_." Zhao's words, not mine. Though, I seriously wondered _who_ was being protected with my prison arrangement. I bet it was him; he _knew_ that I would somehow get into his room in the middle of the night and ogle him, maybe initiate a little skin-on-skin action, something irresistible. Make him moan my name in the dark. Rawr.

"Protect you." He mulled the words over, tasting them until they left a sour flavor in his mouth. Then he narrowed his eyes and looked at me; at my baby blues, at my disheveled clothes, at my outrageous and not-very-Fire-Nationy posture, and then at me as a whole. "You're not from around here."

More statement than question, but I felt like it deserved a response. "No, I'm not." A pregnant pause as I evaluated how scary he could be with somebody who _literally_ wasn't from his world. Maybe he'd understand. But maybe he wouldn't. And even though I doubted he would do something so heinous, his family had a reputation for _burning people._ Their _faces,_ specifically _._ So, as a foreigner—in a prison cell (even though it wasn't locked)—I wanted to be respectable. "Sir."

He beamed, amused. And then he rattled off his myriad of titles. "Former Crown Prince of the Fire Nation, brother to Fire Lord Ozai, uncle to Crown Prince Zuko and Princess Azula, Dragon of the West, and retired General Iroh is perfectly acceptable."

"Well that's not petty." So much for the respectable thing I was trying to do.

But even though I insulted him, he smiled. Another dry, humorous thing. "General Iroh is fine."

" _Much_ less petty," I confirmed. Cruisin' for a bruisin'.

"Indeed." His smiles were becoming creepy. And I wasn't going to say anything but I'm pretty sure that he had a piece of wayward lettuce lodged in his teeth. Or a large tea leaf. I licked the front of my chompers; you know, what you do to subtly tell somebody they have something betwixt their pearly whites.

He didn't catch the hint.

There was an awkward pause as his eyes scanned my blue Dakine backpack, looking at the intricate stitching done by a machine, something far too perfect for human hands to have made. So I scooted in front of it, blocking the definitely-not-red fabric with my frame, hoping that he wouldn't question its definitely not Fire Nation-made origin. It must have been my lucky day, because he didn't.

No, instead he continued talking about something I _**really**_ _didn't want to talk about:_ Zuko.

"So," he began, "about my nephew…"

I did the best that I could to ignore his words. I covered my ears with my hands, starting screaming, " _La, la, la—"_ But Iroh did the most adultiest adult thing I had ever seen in my life.

He _waited until I was done_. And then continued.

"I wanted to apologize for Prince Zuko's actions," he said.

"You did that already."

"I'm aware. However, I felt it needed repeated. You see, my nephew and I have been at sea for three years, traveling nonstop. And sometimes, he forgets his basic manners and he does things—"

"That make him seem like a jerk? Yeah. Kinda got that vibe already."

Iroh beamed. "He's not usually so brash. But his current situation is affecting his mood and judgement."

"Current situation," I repeated, pondering the words, a tad bit confused. "You mean with Zhao or the whole _I must capture the Avatar to regain my honor_ thing?"

Iroh blinked. And then blinked again.

I, meanwhile, shoved my fingers in my mouth because apparently I'm _just as bad as Zuko and I don't think things through before I say them._

"How did you—?"

"Zhao told me," I lied. None too well, if I say so myself. "I got the whole spiel after we saw your damaged cruiser."

Iroh didn't have Toph's amazing lie-detector ability, but he definitely didn't look convinced.

"Yes, well, in light of the circumstances, I was hoping you could assist my nephew with occasional companionship? He hasn't spent much time with people his own age, and I'm _convinced_ that he just needs a friend or two to help him along…"

Iroh kept going, but it was my turn to blink. Huh. He wasn't _wrong_ there. The moment Prince Liar-Liar-Pants-On-Fire got friends was the moment he went a little soft. But being besties with a kid with _tons_ of psychological and physiological trauma wasn't in my vacation itinerary. So I did the best thing imaginable.

I snorted.

"Nah," I said, interrupting whatever sentence Iroh was trying to get out. "That's not gonna work out for me."

Iroh faltered. "I'll, ahh—" I could tell he was grasping for straws, trying to think of anything and everything to convince me otherwise. "I'll pay you."

It was my turn to falter. "Pay me?"

"Handsomely." He smiled.

 _Like it didn't sound creepy or nothin'._

"That's pretty low, General Iroh." I squished my nose together, kinda disgusted. Nobody's ever offered to pay me for companionship before. It made me feel icky. Kind of like a prostitute or something. "I'm not sure I feel comfortable with—"

" _Uncle!_ "

Iroh's eyes darted to the door, a frantic expression on his face. Almost like a mixture of fear and annoyance, probably because somewhere beyond the prison's hold was a grumpy nephew screaming for him, ready and willing to interrupt his uncle's not-so-scream-filled morning with a fresh burst of attitude.

"Name your price," Iroh said as his gaze returned to me, poker-faced. "Everybody has a price."

"Well I don't _have_ a price. I've never had to _think_ of a price for something like this before. And why are you asking me for this, anyway?"

Iroh looked suddenly sullen. Like he was a bit disappointed in himself. "My nephew has been…" He sighed. "A challenge. And I'm afraid I'm not quite up to par with his enthusiasm or—"

"His dickishness?"

He smiled. "A small break after three continuous years would be a relief."

"So you want to pawn your crabby nephew off on me so you can get a nap every once and a while?"

Iroh nodded. "Or a small game of Pai Sho without yelling, or growling, or barked orders. Or…everything else. Yes."

I shook my head. "I don't know, man. Seems like a lot of work. That kid is a serious vibe-killer, a top-notch cranky-pants. Money probably wouldn't be enough—"

" _UNCLE!"_ The shout was getting dangerously close and Iroh winced at the realization.

"If you agree, I'll give you anything you want. Name it and it's yours."

"I'll need time to think," I said, exasperated.

" _ **UNCLE!**_ _"_ The scream was too close for comfort.

"So you agree?"

I glared daggers at Iroh and then turned to consider all of my needs and desires.

Truthfully, I could only think of one thing: Zhao's dick. But I couldn't say that _out loud._ Especially not to Iroh. He probably wouldn't understand—probably would make fun of me or judge me. And his eyes wouldn't twinkle curiously at my direction anymore. No. They'd be filled with criticism. And maybe disgust. Probably a hint of concern, too. (Because it was widely known that Zhao's anaconda was a no-no, don't touch situation. Not that I would've cared. Or listened.)

But still, if I had Iroh's favor, maybe I could pry my way into Zhao's life a little more. Maybe I could find out secrets that nobody else could figure out. My love bunny's favorites: food, battle strategies, Fire Lords, color, smells, childhood memories, etc. So many things to uncover.

And since I had to work for Zhao's affection, knowing that stuff would be beneficial to my mission. Anything was helpful. But still...

This was Zuko we were talking about.

Season one Zuko. Angsty, hot-headed, pea-brained, Avatar-or-bust Zuko.

And he had already dissed me once.

Iroh stood. "Assuming you've agreed," he glanced nervously at the door, "you may have as much time as you'd like to determine appropriate payment."

"But I haven't even agreed—"

" _There_ you are." Zuko burst into the room like he owned the place. Then upturned his nose when he realized where he was. "Uncle, what're you doing _here_ , with this—" He looked at me and sneered. "— _peasant_?"

Iroh smiled at Zuko, like he hadn't just bargained with me to be _friends_ with the idiot, and gestured to me. "Her name is Mary," he said.

It was that moment when I realized that I had never introduced myself to either of them. Never once had I mentioned my name. So, somewhere along the line, Iroh and Zhao must've been talking about me. _Behind my back_.

The dicks.

"I don't care about her _name_ , Uncle. What're you doing here?"

"Just enjoying her companionship." Iroh beamed, setting himself up for escape. "Commander Zhao mentioned that she's a fantastic conversationalist, filled with all sorts of knowledge and helpful hints. She may prove useful to your mission, if you decide to accept her assistance. Perhaps you two should sit down for a while." Iroh stood and bypassed his nephew, still talking. "Maybe chat for a few minutes…or hours." He opened the door. "While I go find a more knowledgeable Pai Sho partner…or a comfortable bed."

And he was gone.

And I blinked. That fat, son-of-a—

"What does he mean?"

I gave Zuko a dead-eyed stare. What did he mean, _what does he mean?_ There was a _lot_ of information in that little escape plan. First, the fact that Iroh and Zhao were talking about me behind my back, about things _I only wanted Zhao to know_ (I'd have to talk to him about that…). The second was that Iroh was blatantly setting us up for a forced friendship. Call it _companionship_ all you want, but it was still a friendship built on lies and bargains— _not_ the kind of healthy relationship I was used to. Third, Santa Clause _ditched us_. For naptime! And a stupid _game!_

There are all sorts of things I could've called Iroh at that moment, but the only thing I could think was: _Damn, what a crafty bugger._ The show _seriously_ didn't capitalize on how wily that dude was.

"You're gonna have to be more specific," I said, looking at a thoroughly confused and conflicted Zuko. Confused because of Iroh's somewhat positive remarks about me, the person he had _just met_. Conflicted because I could tell he didn't want to spend a moment longer than necessary in my presence.

"About the whole useful bit. How could _you_ be useful on my mission to find the Avatar. What could somebody like _you_ possibly know that I don't?"

"Manners," I said under my breath.

Zuko's lip upturned into a scowl. "I heard that," he growled.

"Oh goody. You have a bubbly personality _and_ excellent hearing. What fun."

"I heard that, too," he snarled, stepping closer in my direction. Fingers clenched into tiny little fists beyond the bounds of his maybe-too-big armor. He was breathing erratically, throwing the pitch and wane of the candles outlining the room off with his uncontrollable firebending.

I was _slightly_ terrified. But it didn't stop me from continuing my sarcastic comments. "Good for you, Sparky. Now—"

"Sparky?"

"Season three nickname," I quipped, trying to throw him off.

Readers, I can hear your thoughts. Why I was I egging him on, you ask?

Because I'm a bit of a jerk, myself. Zuko'd been slurring his words around me so hard core that my feelings were maybe a little hurt. And when my feelings get bruised, I don't get sad and sulk in a corner like a normal human being. Nah, I get defensive and start spewing off ill-thought words just to hurt people back. And since I was in a predicament where I knew the immediate future—like where the Gaang would be and whatnot—I thought it was in my best interest to throw around a little bit of the tidbits I knew.

Mostly the freaky-fun-facts about Zuko I had stored in my noggin. Like nicknames or some private moments the show animated that nobody other than Zuko or his immediate family would know about. I mean, if Iroh knew a little bit about me—particularly that I knew things I maybe-sorta-probably shouldn't—why shouldn't I torture Zuko with my knowledge?

Besides, it would make me hella giddy. And I deserved hella giddy after the shitty week I was having.

"Would you prefer Zuzu, instead?"

Zuko stopped breathing and his face got eerily pale. Then he backed out of the room and sprinted down the hall. "Uncle!" I heard him scream. "Uncle, _what_ did you tell her?!"

I tried to give myself a high-five. Stopped when I thought about what it would look like when viewed from the outside and resigned myself to a smug smile. _Success._

* * *

Late in the afternoon, I found myself mindlessly wandering the ship. In search of Chuck or Zhao. Or Iroh or Zuko or _anybody_ with a voice.

Or access to food.

Okay, okay. I was hungry. _Starving_ , more like. And I couldn't remember the way to the mess hall. Or Zhao's office. Or Chuck's office. Or anybody's quarters.

I sighed and looked around the next corner. Caught some random soldier scratch his balls underneath his armored crotch and then sniff his hand and gag. Ew, dude. Don't do…that. And wash your junk for Christ's sake.

I closed my eyes and walked away, down the hall and around the next bend. Up a set of stairs and down another hall. I got more and more lost. Until I heard a familiar grunt.

Zuko.

I followed the echo, peering around each and every corner so I wouldn't get assaulted with whatever violent outburst he was in the middle of. And when I finally found him, I realized why I couldn't find anybody else.

Because basically everybody I was searching for was _with him._ Like Zuko was suddenly the popular chick in school and I was the outcast—the weird girl who ate popcorn off the lunchroom floor and stuffed discarded muffin wrappers in her mouth and chewed them like gum. (Was that a little too specific? Yeah, that was somebody I knew, a girl named Emily. And she became one of my best friends. Don't judge.)

But it kinda pissed me off, ya know? Everybody was supposed to hate Zuko, _despise_ Zuko. Yet there he was, the center of attention. During _my_ vacation.

So I entered the room like a boss ass bitch. Stopped short when I realized that Zuko was in the middle of a kata, shirtless and breathing heavily and fuming. With smoke spiraling off his clenched fists and a sneer on his face. Concentrating, but failing whatever task was expected of him.

So. Like usual.

Zhao was standing off to the side of the room. He had his disappointingly, fully-clothed arms crossed, a bored expression on his face. His hazels flicked over to me the moment I entered, and I couldn't tell what expression filled his face for a millisecond, but I hoped it was joy. With a tinge of excitement.

That would be nice.

"'Sup?" I said with a wave, ambling over to him.

"'Sup, indeed," he replied, tone somewhat bored. He turned to me as I approached, leaned down so he could whisper in my ear. His face was so close. _So close._ I wanted to turn my head and kiss his lips, smear my saliva all over those bad boys. But Iroh was standing a few feet away and I'm not a big fan of PDA. "I hear you've been keeping busy. Pestering Chuck for curtains and decorations for your temporary home. And I've also heard that you've chosen blue." Zhao frowned. "Consider your request _denied_."

"Well," I countered turning my face to his. Two more inches and our lips would've been touching. "I've heard that you've been divulging insider secrets. Particularly the _I know things_ ones."

"Well, he was asking about you. I can change your clothes, but I can't change your hair or your eyes…or you. And I figured a little bit of the truth would keep him interested."

I snorted. "Yeah. Interested enough to have him asking me for favors."

"Excuse me?"

I wanted to answer, but Iroh waddled our way, holding his head and looking like he had a headache burgeoning. And, considering Zuko was _just about_ to have a hissy fit, he looked appropriately anguished.

"I see you did not agree to our arrangement," Iroh whispered to me.

Zhao must've overheard, because he turned to us, slightly intrigued. But he said nothing, merely looked at me with one eyebrow slightly raised. I nodded at him, silently telling him _later, Pookie_. And he looked away with a, "Tch."

Our relationship was top notch romantic, guys. I mean, we could just look at each other and converse. Can't get much better than that. But it wasn't like I could continue fantasizing about how awesome we were together. Because Iroh was standing _right there._

So I shrugged at him and kept my tone quieter than normal. "I didn't _not_ agree," I said. "Consider this an…adjustment period. Your nephew isn't exactly easy to get along with. Must've had no friends growing up or something. And no interactions with people around his own age, I guess." I paused. "I blame bad parenting."

Zhao snorted and turned away, tried to cover up his amusement by faking a coughing fit. Iroh, on the other hand, nodded.

"You could say that," he said with a frown. "But it's imperative that you keep trying. Remember, whatever you want—"

"Is mine. I understand—"

"You know," Zuko grunted from the middle of the room, "this would be a _lot_ easier if you three _shut up_."

"You know—" I mocked. God, I was _so tired_ of Zuko and his crabby-patty attitude. So tired of it and I hadn't even been around him for more than ten freaking minutes. So I did the best thing possible; I insulted him. Badly. And a little piece of me blames the fact that I was downright _hangry_ for the way this conversation turned out. "—that kata you're trying to do would be a _lot_ easier if you took that stick out of your ass."

The room went dead silent. Like everybody was too afraid to say anything or move. Iroh eventually twitched, probably realizing that a screaming session was about to start, but I was honestly too hungry to care.

"Mary," Zhao said, "you should apolo—"

"You," Zuko interrupted, poking a spindly finger at me. " _Peasant, get out."_

"I'll get out when Commander Zhao tells me to get out, thank you very much. But until that happens, I'll be right here. Watching you struggle through your forms like a child who _hasn't_ spent years trying to master his art."

"And what do _you_ know about firebending, peasant?"

Not a gosh darn thing.

"Lots," I said. "Probably more than you."

Not true then. Not true now.

"Mary," Iroh whispered to me. "What are you doing?"

"You wanted a nap, and I'm giving you a dog-on nap. I have a plan. So shush," I snarl-whispered.

"More than me?" Zuko asked, stepping closer. "How's that possible? I've had the best tutors in the world."

"And look at all the good that's done ya."

Zuko rushed forward, but Iroh got between us. He shielded me from his nephew's temper. From the smoke that started to pour out his nostrils and the flames in his hands.

"That shit's dangerous," I muttered under my breath. "You're gonna get the big C if you keep that up."

"So show me," Zuko spat, shoving Iroh off and away. "Show me what my tutors have failed to teach me."

"Sure," I said, straight-up bluffing my ass off. "I'll teach you everything I know. But it'll take a lot of time."

"I don't _have_ a lot of time," Zuko whined. "The Avatar's back _now_ and I need to capture him _now_ and I don't have time to train because _I should know all of this by now._ "

"You should," I agreed. "And you will." I paused. "But first, I need something to eat. Like _now._ Or I swear I'm gonna _murder_ something."

* * *

For the first time in what felt like forever, I was incredibly happy. I got a hot, totally-not-jook meal; chicken, seasoned taste bud-numbingly hot with sautéed vegetables and white rice. Everything was oh-my-god-I-can't-feel-my-mouth delicious and I couldn't help but smile and pat my full belly.

Even Iroh and Zhao seemed to be having a good time, enjoying their own meals at my right and left hands, respectively. It was just Zuko who was miserable. Zuko who was grumbling insults about wasting his valuable time eating when he could have been practicing those katas he was failing at mere moments ago.

"I just don't understand," Zuko said after I had finished dabbing my lips with my napkin. "You aren't a bender but you claim to know about firebending."

I rolled my eyes. "Dude, chill. Sometimes _knowing_ about something is more important than actually being able to _do_ it."

"That doesn't make any sense."

"Sure it does. Knowledge is power."

"Power is power."

I knew a _Game of Thrones_ reference when I heard it, so I wasn't about to argue with him. But I totally argued with him—mostly because he didn't have the almighty power of the Lannister army behind his back. "Power is great and all, but if you're stupid, it won't benefit you in the least. Ya gotta have somebody knowledgeable behind that power. Otherwise, what's the point?"

Zuko snorted. "That's stupid."

"No," I quipped. "Running yourself into the ground is stupid. And people who're only concerned with power usually do that. No breaks, no time to enjoy life—to think—those are the people who eventually crash and burn. And if you don't be careful, you're going to find yourself on a one-way street, going against the flow of traffic."

"…What?"

"Cars'll smoosh you flat, Zuzu."

"Don't call me that."

"Then don't say dumb things." I paused. "And take a gosh darn break once and a while."

"Again," Zuko snapped, "I don't have _time_ for a break. The Avatar's out there and I don't know where he is and I need to _find him_."

"Oh-my-gosh _stop talking,"_ I said, exhausted from all the arguing. Seriously, did Zuko have and off button or something? Because I really wanted to smash it. "You want to know where the Avatar is so bad? Listen up, chump."

"Mary—" Zhao started. But I cut him off.

"He's at the Southern Air Temple, finding out the super grim realities of war."

The room went silent. Then, I heard three separate versions of, "…What?"

"The _Southern Air Temple_ ," I repeated, irritated. Then I realized my mistake. "Oh, shit. I did it again."

"The Southern Air Temple," Zuko said. "We should set a course for there. Immediately."

"Wait, wait, wait," I said. "H-he won't be there when you finally get there."

"And why not?" Zhao asked.

"Because it's creepy as all hell there right now. Ya know, filled with corpses and skeletons and such. The kid's learning that he's the last of his kind right now and going all glowy."

"The Avatar State, you mean?" Iroh asked.

"Shush," I said. Damn, Iroh was really starting to get on my nerves. The dude was totally pushy. And a bit of a know-it-all. "Either way, he won't be there when you finally show up. He'll be long gone."

"And how do you know this?" Zuko asked.

I looked at Zhao. Mostly because he was the one who had let our little secret out to Iroh already. And when we locked eyes, his hazels totally said, _go ahead and tell them, babe._ I may have totes added the _babe_ part, but this is my story and I'm sticking to it.

It wasn't until later that I found out I totally _misread_ those beautiful irises. Yeah, I may have seen _go ahead, my beautiful lover-to-be_ but in reality, he wanted me to _shut the hell up so we can discuss this new development in private._

Oops.

"Because I'm a Space Ranger," I confessed.

"And what's that?"

"Somebody who's not from this world."

I got two pairs of angry eyes staring at me—Zhao's and Zuko's. Iroh's, on the other hand, looked extremely intrigued.

"What does that have to do with anything?" Zuko asked.

"It has a lot to do with everything, actually," I said. "Mostly because I know where the Avatar is right now. And where he'll be a few days from now. And where he'll be after that. And after that. And after that. And where he'll be by the end of the season. And the next few after that."

Zuko reached across the table and grabbed my collar. Yanked me up and over the plates until I batted his gosh darn hands away.

"Then _tell me_ ," he spat.

"A _please_ would be nice."

Zuko grit his teeth and glared. " _Please,"_ he snarled.

I'd never heard the word _please_ spoken like that. It was downright terrifying.

And because it was so startling to have _please_ spoken to me like that, a part of me wanted to straight-up lie to his face and tell him that the Avatar had bee-lined it for the Northern Water Tribe. But the other part of me was only thinking of one thing: Zhao. And his plan, more specifically.

You know, the one where he only wanted to help Zuko because he thought he would get a promotion or something.

My thoughts at the time: maybe my love bunny would give me a nice kissy-wissy after our delightful dinner. Maybe he'd be so happy with the way I twisted Zuko and Iroh around my fingers, he'd let me sneak into his room for a little midnight action. And with those sorts of thoughts in my head, I continued.

"On one condition," I grumbled, straightening my crumpled shirt collar.

"Name it."

"You and your uncle send word about how amazing my love bunn—" Shit! Shit! Almost outed myself. "—Zhao is."

Zuko glanced up, obviously displeased. But he didn't say a damn word about my slip-up. " _Fine_ ," he eventually sighed.

"Good."

" _Now tell me where the Avatar will be."_

"Dude, chill," I said. I looked at Zhao; and though he was glaring at me, he nodded. _Do it, baby,_ was what those eyes said. So I did. "The Avatar's going to Kyoshi."

Readers, I'm going to end this chapter right here. Mostly because Kyoshi _does not go according to plan._ It doesn't even come close to how it was supposed to go. And, if I'm being honest, _neither does the boat ride there._ But it wasn't like I _knew_ that at the time. It wasn't like I _knew_ shit would hit the fan and freaking _spread._

All I gotta say, is that if Mike and Bryan were pissed with the way S1E3 went, they'd be straight-up _livid_ if they had seen the outcome of the Kyoshi Island arc.


End file.
